WMAN 


Helen  S,  Woodruff 


477F 


VJ 


15  (30  Kir  C 

OA  RY 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 


THE 
IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 


BY 

HELEN  S.  WOODRUFF 

Author  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lighthouse,"  "  Mis'  Beauty,"  "  Really 
Truly"  Series,  "Mr.  Doctor  Man,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  SULLY  &  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
HELEN  S,  WOODRUFF 


All  rights  reserved 
First  Edition,  April,  1918 


Printed  in  U.S.A. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED  TO 

HON.  MORRIS  WOODRUFF  SEYMOUR 

Who  blazed  the  trail  for  me  to  write  it; 
TO 

HON.  RICHARD  M.  HURD 

My  guide,  philosopher  and  friend  through  the  period 
of  its  writing;  and 

TO 

HON.  THOMAS  MOTT  OSBORNE 

The  "man  with  a  vision,"  who  inspired  it. 


2138891 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

In  this  story  the  author  has  not  writ- 
ten of  Dickens'sand  Reade's  times, 
nor  of  their  country.  Neither 
are  the  atrocities  of  which  she  tells 
those  committed  by  Germany, 
but  are  one  and  all  committed 
here  and  now  in  our  own  country, 
the  United  States  of  America 


CHAPTER  I 

DICK  DENNISON  jumped  from  his  boat  as  its  keel 
grated  on  the  shore,  carelessly  throwing  in  its  bottom 
the  paper-backed  novel  he  had  been  reading;  and  then, 
pulling  the  boat  up  onto  the  small  strip  of  snowy  beach, 
tied  it  securely  to  a  place  just  below  the  huge  rocks 
that  jutted  out  into  the  blueness  of  the  little  bay.  At 
his  approach  a  flock  of  sandpipers  whirred  into  the 
air,  and  circling  seemed  to  be  suddenly  obliterated — 
then  all  at  once  their  breasts  gleamed  white  against 
the  horizon,  once  more  conspicuous  as  they  wheeled 
and  circled  away.  Pausing,  the  boy  gazed  after  them 
a  moment  as  though  spellbound.  Across  the  island- 
studded,  rippling  blue  expanse  lay  the  white-capped 
ocean.  It  was  June,  and  the  thick  mass  of  the  woods 
coming  down  to  the  very  edge  of  the  rock-bound 
coast  was  reawakened  from  its  winter  dullness  of 
spruce  and  pine-needled  greenness  by  intermingling  of 
the  lacy,  tender  youth  of  belated  white  flowering 
cherry,  creamy  fuzzy  oaks,  and  dainty  leaved  maples 
in  scarlet  bloom. 

Richard  caught  his  breath  with  pleasure.  The  scene, 
old  as  it  was  to  his  native  eyes,  was  never  old,  and 
each  time  that  he  saw  it  his  heart  thrilled  with  its 
majesty  and  beauty.  Jerking  at  the  anchor  rope  to 
assure  himself  that  he  had  tied  the  boat  so  that  the  in- 
coming tide  could  not  possibly  loosen  it,  he  climbed 
nimbly  up  the  huge  lichen-covered  boulder  nearest 
him,  and  throwing  his  head  back  began  to  sing,  as 
from  this  height  he  saw  the  lovely  landscape  grown  in 
breadth. 

Straight  and  tall  and  lithe  as  a  young  Indian,  and 
nearly  as  brown,  he  looked  a  very  wood  god  in  his 

i 


clean-limbed  vigor  as  he  paused  under  a  gnarled  oak 
and  drank  in  the  soft  June  air.  He  gloried  in  every  leaf, 
every  tree,  every  stick  and  stone  of  this  old  rugged 
coast,  for  ever  since  he  could  remember  he  had  loved 
to  slip  away  from  the  white  house  on  the  elm-lined 
village  street  and  come  here — or  out  on  the  sun-kissed 
bay — for  his  pleasure  and  recreation. 

At  the  sound  of  his  joyous  bursting  song  a  red 
squirrel,  fluffy  tail  turned  over  back,  darted  up  the 
tree  trunk  to  a  height  of  safety,  and  then  sitting  there, 
with  one  paw  over  its  heart,  looked  down  at  the  boy 
and  chattered  saucily.  A  big  old  clumsy  porcupine 
stopped  its  lumbering  walk  through  last  year's  leaves 
that,  like  elderly  people,  were  still  murmuring  of  their 
by-gone  summer,  and  gazed  at  him  in  dignity;  then  at 
his  uninterrupted  approach,  rolled  itself  into  a  ball 
and  bristled  its  armament  of  quills.  A  bluejay, 
perched  just  above  his  head,  flicked  its  wings  and  flew 
to  a  nearby  beech  tree,  giving  harsh  warning  to  its 
nesting  mate.  The  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  fell  softly 
on  the  fresh  green  of  the  young  leaves  that  clapped 
their  hands  with  glee.  The  boy  laughed  aloud  for  the 
pure  joy  of  living.  His  eyes  sparkled.  How  he  loved 
it  all — the  beeches  with  their  big,  clean,  gray-white 
trunks,  the  many  kinds  of  birches,  the  oaks.  Looking 
through  these  he  saw  the  color  of  the  bay  intensified, 
and  standing  out  blackly  against  the  sunset  sky  a  big 
osprey's  nest  in  a  stark  tree  at  the  water's  edge.  He 
would  never  leave  these  woods.  How  could  people 
shut  themselves  in  dirty,  noisy  cities,  when  all  out-of- 
doors  was  theirs  for  the  taking! 

Just  then  spying  a  bunch  of  spring  anemones  peep- 
ing out  at  him  in  pink-cheeked  shyness,  he  stopped  and 
began  to  pick  them,  changing  his  full-voiced  song  to 
a  faint  chant  of  murmured  carefree  happiness. 

"You  beauties!"  he  finally  said  aloud,  ceasing  his 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN      3 

song  and  gathering  all  the  blossoms  in  sight,  "how 
Mumsy'll  love  you!"  and  he  filled  both  his  long- 
fingered,  capable  young  hands  in  his  eagerness  to  please 
his  little  mother. 

"She  must  come  out  with  me  to-morrow!  The 
whole  world  is  June — is  June!"  And  he  began  hum- 
ming again  as  he  gazed  about  him  at  the  riot  of  fresh 
color,  of  yellow  dogtooth  violets  which,  with  the 
dainty  white  and  pink  bloom  of  spring-beauties, 
partridge-berry  flowers  and  trailing  vines  of  the  mit- 
chella,  formed  a  perfumed  carpet  for  the  entire  woods. 
"That  old  pain  in  her  side  will  surely  be  better  now." 

Having  gathered  all  the  flowers  he  wished  he 
straightened  up  and,  throwing  his  head  back,  burst 
into  a  loud,  blithesome  whistle  as  he  left  the  woods 
for  home.  His  way  led  across  fields  of  waving  daisies, 
buttercups  and  primroses  over  which  a  swarm  of  pink- 
winged  noctuid  moths  rose  and  hovered  in  ecstasy, 
then  settled  to  their  feast  again  as  he  reached  the 
village  street. 

Striding  down  its  elm-bordered  way  he  soon  came 
to  a  high  white  fence  which  he  jumped  with  one  bound, 
ran  through  a  grove,  and  bolted  up  the  steps  of  the 
austere  house  behind  it,  finally  bursting  into  its  hall. 
Throwing  his  well-aimed  cap  over  a  peg  on  the  wall 
he  made  a  dash  for  the  library  door,  still  whistling 
as  he  went. 

"Hello,  Mumsy,"  he  cried;  "I've  had  the  best  sail 
ever — and  look  at  these " 

But  he  stopped  short,  for  from  across  the  square, 
bare  library  table,  lighted  only  by  a  green-shaded  read- 
ing lamp,  he  saw  his  father's  thin,  gray-bearded  face 
frowning  at  him,  and  beyond  that,  out  in  the  green- 
tinted  dimness,  his  mother's  frail  figure  kneeling  in 
the  attitude  of  prayer. 

Her  features  were  white  and  drawn,  and  looking 


toward  him  she  surreptitiously  held  up  her  hand  in 
warning.  Understanding,  he  silently  stepped  into  the 
circle  of  light  which  emphasized  the  gloom  of  the  grim, 
book-lined  room,  and  putting  the  anemones  on  the 
table  looked  his  father  silently  in  the  eyes.  The  elderly 
man  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  and  the  small,  gray-clad 
woman  trembled,  then  started  to  rise  to  her  feet;  but 
a  sudden  wave  of  emotion  sweeping  over  her,  instead 
she  remained  quite  still,  her  eyes  looking  from  first 
one  to  the  other  of  the  two  as  she  caught  at  the 
sharp  pain  in  her  side.  The  older  man  leaned  slightly 
forward  and,  scowling,  addressed  his  son. 

"Give  an  accounting  of  yourself,"  he  said.  "Where 
have  you  been?"  And  then,  before  the  boy  could  pos- 
sibly answer,  he  continued : 

"Do  you  hear  me,  sir?    Answer!" 
At  his  tone  and  words  a  spark  of  anger  came  into 
the  boy's  black  eyes  for  a  moment,  but  controlling 
his  voice  he  said: 

"Yes,  Father,  I  hear  you.     I  have " 

But  Dick's  very  self-control  seemed  to  irritate  his 
father  further,  and  sitting  very  straight  in  his  chair 
he  cut  in  sharply: 

"No  back  talk.    Where  have  you  been?" 
Dick  flushed,  started  to  speak  sharply,  then  becom- 
ing aware  of  his  mother's  pleading  white  face  again 
raised  to  his,  answered  quietly : 

"Sailing,  Father.     I  thought  you  knew." 

"Thought  I  knew !''  the  man  caught  him  up. 

"You  lie.  You  know  if  I  had  known  you  would 
not  have  done  it!  And  what  does  this  mean?" — dis- 
playing a  paper-bound  book  with  lurid  title.  "Didn't 
I  forbid  you  reading  novels,"  and  he  angrily  tore  the 
book  in  half  and  flung  it  on  the  floor  at  the  boy's 
feet.  "You  either  read  God's  Holy  Word  or  you 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN      5 

read  nothing.  Understand?  Never  let  me  find  such 
trash  in  this  house  again!" 

Then  rising  he  turned,  and  putting  the  big  Bible  he 
held  upon  the  seat  of  his  chair,  knelt  in  front  of  it, 
saying  in  command  to  the  boy : 

"Kneel  down,  sir,  and  ask  our  Heavenly  Father 
to  forgive  you." 

For  a  moment  the  boy  hesitated. 

"Kneel  down!"  his  father  fairly  thundered. 

"But,  Father,  I  don't " 

"Kneel  down!"  his  father  commanded,  and  again 
catching  his  mother's  eye  the  boy  did  so  without 
further  argument,  as  his  father  continued  bitingly : 

"I  never  thought  I'd  live  to  see  the  day  a  son  of 
mine  broke  the  Holy  Sabbath!  And  furthermore," 
bitterly,  "I  hope  you  realize  you've  kept  your  mother 
on  her  knees  until  they  are  doubtless  bruised  and 
sore." 

The  boy  had  sprung  up,  his  face  crimson,  his  eyes 
darting  fire. 

"Father!"  he  cried.  "You  know  that  is  not  so! 
Mother!"  and  he  made  a  quick  move  in  her  direc- 
tion, but  was  stopped  by  his  father's  arm. 

"You  know  I  love  her  better  than — than  my  very 
soul!"  he  said.  "Mother!" 

But  the  elder  man  scowled  more  deeply  and  opened 
his  lips  to  speak,  when  the  woman  interrupted  gently : 

"Kneel  down,  Richard." 

Obeying  the  half-frightened  pleading  of  her  big 
eyes  he  knelt  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  while 
his  father's  sonorous  voice  presently  broke  the  still- 
ness of  the  room. 

"Oh,  Heavenly  Father,"  he  prayed,  "we  are  unclean. 
We  are  full  of  iniquity — there  is  no  good  in  us.  We 
are  as  of  the  dust  beneath  Thy  feet,  not  fit  for  Thee  to 


6      THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

tread  upon.  Chasten  us  that  we  may  know  Thou  lov- 
est  us.  Make  us  welcome  Thy  well-merited  punish- 
ment for  our  sins.  Show  us  Thy  mighty  wrath  that 
we  may  fear  to  sin  against  Thee,  and  though  we  de- 
serve naught  but  chastisement  at  Thy  hands,  forgive 
our  undeservingness  at  last  and  take  our  worthless 
souls  home  to  Thee.  Oh,  Father  of  all,  Jehovah,  my 
son  has  sinned  against  Thee.  He  hath  committed  a 
crime  against  Thy  Holy  Day.  Lay  thy  mark  upon 
him.  Punish  him  that  he  may  know — 

But  with  a  sigh  the  frail  little  woman  near  him 
relaxed  her  hold  upon  the  chair  at  which  she  knelt. 
The  old,  old  pain  had  grown  worse — alarmingly  worse ! 
It  had  seemed  to  sap  her  very  life's  blood  as  it  shot 
its  quivering  way  through  her  breast,  and  at  last, 
reaching  her  pale  lips,  suffused  them  with  a  foamy 
crimson  the  feeling  of  which  frightened  her.  Falling 
backward,  she  lay  in  a  huddled  heap  while  the  crim- 
son spread  down  the  soft  white  bosom  to  the  gray 
dress,  there  darkening  it  strangely. 

At  the  sound  of  her  soft  falling  the  boy  had  looked 
up,  and  now  he  uttered  a  cry  like  that  of  a  wounded 
animal,  and  springing  forward  he  gathered  her  in  his 
arms. 

"Mother!"  he  cried.  "Mother,  darling!  What's 
the  matter?  Speak  to  me! — darling!" 

His  father,  frightened  too,  slowly  arose  from 
his  knees  and  came  over  to  where  the  boy  knelt  hold- 
ing the  unconscious  head  in  both  his  arms. 

The  little  woman's  eyes  flickered  open  for  a  moment 
and  set  themselves  on  her  husband's  hard-featured 
face.  Then  shuddering  she  called  into  command  every 
bit  of  will  power  in  her  body,  and  turning  her  eyes 
slowly  toward  her  boy  moved  her  lips.  He  bent  nearer, 
and  she  whispered  brokenly: 

"God  is — Love — not  Vengeance.     Remember — that 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN      7 

• — Richard — son.  Life  can  be — happy — Sunshine — 
Flowers — Love — Remember !" 

A  glory  filled  her  face,  and  she  smiled  at  him  for 
a  moment  more ;  then  closed  her  eyes — forever. 

At  their  closing  the  boy  gave  a  frightened  scream. 

"The  doctor,  Father!  the  doctor!"  he  cried.  But 
even  as  he  spoke  he  knew  that  there  was  no  use; 
and  the  man  knew  too,  instinctively.  His  hard,  gray- 
bearded  face  broke  into  a  quiver  of  feeling  as  he 
looked  down  into  that  of  his  wife.  Then  raising  him- 
self, he  said  in  his  usual  inflexible  voice: 

"God's  will  be  done,"  and  turning  he  would  have 
walked  from  them  both  had  not  the  boy's  voice  stopped 
him. 

"No,  no,  no!"  Richard  screamed,  his  cheeks 
blanched  with  suffering,  his  eyes  afire.  "Stay  here, 
Father;  I  must  go  for  the  doctor!" 

Bending  his  face  nearer  the  one  on  his  arm,  he 
went  on  hysterically,  "Oh,  God,  if  you  are  a  just  God, 
you  will  not  take  her  from  me!"  Then  a  wave  of 
anger  surging  strong  through  him,  he  clinched  his 
teeth  and  muttered :  "I  shall  know  You  are  hard  and 
unjust,  too,  if  she  dies!" 

With  a  shock  of  horror  the  older  man  stooped,  and 
without  so  much  as  a  word  took  the  limp  little  body 
from  his  son's  arms  into  his  own.  Then  he  said 
severely : 

"Let  me  hear  no  more,  blasphemer!  Our  Father 
knows  best,"  and  he  strode  from  the  room. 

Pausing  at  the  doorway  he  looked  back.  "Go  for 
Dr.  Dreary."  Then  he  added:  "This  is  God's  way 
of  punishing  you.  I  asked  and  now  this  is  His  an- 
swer." 

But  the  boy  had  not  even  heard  his  last  words. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  dazed,  and  then  groping  from 
the  room  grabbed  his  cap  from  the  peg  and  went  to 


8      THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

the  door.  There,  overcome  with  his  grief,  but  stifling 
a  choking  sob,  he  turned  and  ran  back.  Flinging  him- 
self silently  at  his  father's  feet,  he  took  his  mother's 
pale  hand  that  hung  down  limply,  and  covered  it  with 

kisses.    Then  he  rushed  from  the  house. 

******* 

Hours  after,  the  moon  rose  to  prophesy  the  com- 
ing day,  and  the  kindly  village  doctor  left  the  sad- 
dened house.  A  still  white  form  lay  alone,  locked  in 
an  unlighted  upstairs  room,  while  in  the  dimly  lit  li- 
brary Deacon  Dennison  knelt  in  resigned  prayer. 

Out  in  the  woods  the  boy  tramped,  tramped,  back 
and  forth,  a  battle  raging  in  his  heart.  The  moon 
turned  everything  into  fairyland.  The  incoming  tide 
dashed  and  roared  against  the  rocks.  Each  wave, 
silver-tipped,  sent  up  a  great  spray  of  diamond-dusted 
laciness  that  glistened  against  the  somber  hugeness 
of  the  boulders.  Unheeding,  Richard  tramped  on,  his 
head  bowed  upon  his  breast.  Thus  he  had  walked 
for  many  hours.  Then  suddenly  seeming  to  rouse 
himself,  he  sat  down  and  gazed  out  across  the  little 
cove  at  his  feet.  Here  the  water,  protected  by  the 
half  circle  of  rocky  shore,  rolled  less  brokenly,  the 
great  waves  almost  reaching  the  strip  of  sandy  beach 
before  they  broke;  and  it  seemed  to  his  imaginative 
eyes  that  they  were  alive,  so  eagerly  did  each  wave 
succeed  each  and  come  rolling  on  its  undulating  way! 
He  imagined  he  saw  in  every  one  of  them  the  face 
of  some  sea  maiden  featured  like  his  mother,  who, 
lured  by  a  human  lover  on  the  shore,  came  eagerly  to 
his  arms — only  to  die. 

And  then  the  whole  scene  was  blotted  out  as  he 
remembered  with  a  heart-stifling  pang  why  he  was  sit- 
ting there  at  that  time  of  night.  Restlessly  rising  he 
again  tramped  the  woods. 

Over  the  carpet  of  violets  and  twin  flower  vines 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN      9 

that  trailed  their  delicate  way,  their  tiny  pink  and  white 
blossoms  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  he  ruthlessly 
went,  forgetting  everything  except  his  own  present 
suffering  and  its  cause.  Back  through  the  years  of 
his  childhood  he  deliberately  let  his  thoughts  carry 
him,  always  recalling  his  mother  and  all  she  had  meant 
in  his  life. 

Slight  and  girlish  of  figure,  with  a  delicately  fea- 
tured face  and  great  dark  eyes,  the  expression  of  which 
was  ever  changing,  she  seemed  to  her  son  as  he  viewed 
her  thus  across  the  years  hardly  older  than  himself. 
He  realized  now  more  than  he  had  ever  realized  be- 
fore what  his  father's  cold  nature  had  meant  to  a  na- 
ture like  hers.  He  had  heard  from  her  lips  the  story 
of  how  her  father  had  died  when  she  was  eighteen, 
and  left  her  to  the  guardianship  of  his  friend,  Deacon 
Dennison.  How  that  friend,  a  deeply  religious  man 
over  twice  her  age,  had  come  to  see  her,  and  finding 
her  alone  and  unprotected  had  married  her  on  the  spot. 
But  though  their  son  had  not  heard  the  rest  of  the 
story,  it  unrolled  itself  before  him  now  as  plainly  as 
if  he  had  known  it  and  its  end  from  the  very  first.  He 
realized  that  the  death  of  the  frail  little  body,  lying 
so  still  at  that  very  moment  on  the  bed  where  he  was 
born,  was  only  the  culmination  of  a  death  which  had 
commenced  on  the  day  of  his  birth;  for,  violently 
jealous  of  his  own  son,  his  father  from  that  moment 
had  crushed  all  the  youth  of  life  from  his  wife  as 
surely  as  if  he  had  used  physical  force!  Thus  it  is 
always  with  the  jealousy  of  age  against  the  vitality 
of  youth. 

Richard  again  recalled  her  as  with  carefree  laugh- 
ter she  had  romped  with  him,  then  a  tiny  boy,  in  these 
very  woods.  Or  again  he  watched  her  dancing  feet 
as,  bursting  into  snatches  of  song,  she  would  grab 
him  by  both  his  fat  little  arms  and  whirl  him  about 


10    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

in  a  mad  laughing  gale,  until  both  of  them  were  ex- 
hausted by  the  frolic,  and  she  would  drop  down  in 
a  flushed  heap  and  pretend  sleep  until  he  awakened 
her  with  his  eager  moist  kisses. 

But  even  then,  on  those  happy  occasions,  his  father's 
dark  stern  figure  began  to  obtrude  itself,  until,  as  he 
recalled  now,  such  frolics  were  associated  with  an 
uneasy  fear  of  unhappiness  and  harsh  words  to  fol- 
low, which  would  result  in  tears  for  his  little  mother! 
Over  and  over,  a  daily  occurrence  in  the  white  house 
on  the  village  street,  their  two  laughing  voices  would 
be  hushed  into  startled  silence  at  the  click  of  the  gate; 
or  else,  if  their  laughter  was  so  loud  as  to  drown  that 
sound,  the  mother's  merriment  was  soon  turned  to 
sadness  by  her  husband's  unexpected  entrance  and 
scolding  accusation  of  "unseemly  frivolity."  Deacon 
Dennison  had  not  welcomed  his  son  at  birth,  and  more 
and  more  the  growing  boy  became  a  source  of  jeal- 
ousy and  irritation  to  him. 

Years  passed,  years  that  brought  broken-spirited 
peace  for  her — for  the  frolics  had  ceased  to  be.  Rich- 
ard, only  half  conscious  of  what  he  saw,  watched  his 
young  mother  grow  into  a  sad,  quiet  little  drab  woman 
of  middle  age,  old  before  her  time.  Only  her  faith- 
ful eyes  dared  speak  to  him  of  her  yearning  mother- 
love,  and  Deacon  Dennison  at  last  found  himself  mas- 
ter indeed. 

His  father's  severity  and  somber  outlook  on  life 
had  failed  utterly,  however,  to  break  Richard's  spirits. 
Instead  of  becoming  docile  and  subservient  as  had  his 
mother's  weaker  nature,  his  had  become  dangerously 
defiant  in  its  steadily  growing  strength  and  personality. 
Instead  of  the  worshipful  attitude  his  father  demanded 
of  him,  he  could  not  help  but  see  the  injustice  of  his 
demands,  and  bitterness  against  his  father  grew  in  his 
heart. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    11 

Pausing  a  moment  in  these  vivid  memories,  he  again 
sat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  watched  the 
shoreward  waves.  A  thought  entirely  new  came  to 
his  maturing  mind.  Was  it,  after  all,  wholly  his 
father's  fault,  that  terrible  jealousy  which  had  de- 
manded his  mother's  ageing  before  her  time?  Per- 
h€ps  it  was  but  natural,  and  he  could  not  help  it. 
Somewhere  he,  Richard,  had  read  "Out  of  life — death. 
Out  of  death — life."  Was  that  the  explanation  of 
older  people  always  trying  to  suppress  the  young,  he 
wondered?  Was  it  the  natural  law  of  self-preservation 
inherited  from  savage  forebears?  But  to  what  selfish- 
ness it  led !  The  young  oftentimes  become  old,  and  lose 
their  opportunity  for  usefulness,  because  their  elders 
are  ever  striving  to  suppress,  or  thwart  them,  while 
they  themselves  insist  upon  occupying  the  younger 
generations'  rightful  places — but  the  thought  grew 
too  big  for  him  and  he  let  it  drop.  Certainly,  he 
decided,  each  generation  as  they  aged  thought  they 
were  the  only  right  thinkers — yet  civilization  contin- 
ued to  climb  upward! 

With  this  enlightening  idea  there  welled  up  a  feel- 
ing of  half  pity  for  his  father,  whom  probably  he 
had  never  understood.  Richard's  sympathetic  nature, 
quick  always  to  find  excuse  for  others,  tried  to  look 
at  his  father  from  this  new  viewpoint.  He  would  try 
to  understand  him ! 

For  some  time  the  moon  had  been  an  unwilling 
prisoner  behind  a  wide  bar  of  leaden-colored  cloud, 
which  gave  the  proverbial  "darkest  before  dawn"  ef- 
fect to  the  landscape;  but  now  as  it  was  released  and, 
sailing  out  into  the  clearness  above,  smiled  down  to 
brighten  the  fairy  woods,  the  boy's  heart  pulsated  with 
a  new  resolve. 

His  father  was  doubtless  suffering  too.  He  would 
go  to  him — would  talk  to  him  freely  of  her — would 


12    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

tell  him  that  he,  Richard,  would  try  to  do  more  as  his 
father  wished. 

He  arose  and  turned  back  into  the  woods.  Yes,  he 
would  try  to  understand  his  father  better.  He  knew 
he  stood  high  in  the  God-fearing  community  in  which 
they  lived.  He  was  looked  up  to,  and  spoken  of  as 
an  example  for  young  men  to  follow;  and  yet — 
yet 

Richard  strode  on.  A  night  owl  popped  from  his 
hole  just  above  his  head  and  hooted  hoarsely.  A  loon 
in  the  lake  beyond  the  marshes  laughed  his  shrill  note 
of  derision — the  moon  hid  behind  a  cloud  again;  but 
with  eager,  stumbling  feet  the  boy  rushed  on  through 
the  night.  His  whole  being  was  suffused  and  aquiver 
with  a  great  hungry  longing  for  sympathy  and  under- 
standing from  his  father — all  he  had  left  in  the  world. 

He  reached  the  white  gate  of  his  home  and  went 
briskly  up  the  walk  to  the  glass-paneled  door. 

It  was  locked — and  dark. 

Rather  surprised,  he  went  around  the  house,  glanc- 
ing up  at  all  the  windows.  They  were  entirely  dark 
also. 

With  a  quick,  renewed  doubt  stabbing  his  heart,  and 
redoubled  anguish  at  the  thought  that  his  father  could 
go  to  bed,  as  he  so  evidently  had  done,  on  a  night  of 
such  sorrow,  Richard  went  softly  to  the  window  of 
his  mother's  room. 

There  was  no  sound,  and  slipping  his  long  fingers 
through  the  blinds  he  unfastened  them  and  quietly 
clambered  in. 

The  moon,  again  visible,  lighted  up  the  room 
brightly,  and  on  the  big  four-poster  bed,  stark  of  sof- 
tening draperies,  he  saw  her  lying,  calm  and  sweet, 
her  hands  folded  upon  her  breast.  The  smile  that  had 
illumined  her  face  when  she  spoke  her  last  words  to 
him  was  still  upon  it. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    13 

So  naturally  was  she  lying,  so  exactly  as  he  had 
often  seen  her  when  he  had  defied  his  father  and 
stayed  late  during  his  rambles  in  the  woods,  and  then 
clambered  in  through  her  window,  that  now  his  heart 
gave  a  great  throb  of  hope. 

This  hope  was  quickly  stifled,  however,  by  a  ter- 
rible pain  of  knowledge,  and  crossing  softly  to  her 
side  he  knelt  while  great  sobs  shook  him.  For  the 
first  time  since  his  childhood  he  knew  the  comforting 
effect  of  tears.  His  clenched  hands  slowly  unlocked 
themselves.  Leaning  forward  he  laid  his  head  rev- 
erently down  upon  her  breast.  A  great  peace  filled  him 
and  the  tears  coursed  unheeded  down  his  cheeks. 

Her  words  returned  to  him,  and  with  them  a  pic- 
ture of  the  sun-dappled  flower-carpet  of  the  woods 
came  before  his  mind's  eye. 

"God  is  Love,  not  Vengeance — Life  can  be  happy! 
Sunshine — flowers — love !" 

Yes,  he  would  try  to  be  happy  for  her  sake.  He 
would  try  to  understand  and  obey  his  father 

A  sound  grated  at  the  door  of  the  room  and  made 
him  jump  up  quickly. 

The  key  squeakily  turned  and  then  the  door  opened 
slowly. 

He  stepped  forward. 

"Father!"  he  began,  as  he  saw  who  it  was. 
"Father!"  But  the  first  affectionate  utterance  he  had 
ever  in  his  life  dared  give  to  his  father  froze  as 
he  caught  sight  of  his  angry  face. 

Lips  drawn  into  a  thin,  hard  line,  his  brow  gath- 
ered darkly  together  in  a  frown,  the  other  spoke. 

"Come  out!"  he  commanded  angrily.  "How  dared 
you  disobey  me,"  and  he  drew  the  dazed  boy  roughly 
from  the  room  into  the  dimly  lighted  hall,  and  noisily 
shut  the  door,  putting  his  back  against  it.  "Answer 
me,  sir!  I  told  you  no  one  should  enter  that  room! 


14    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

It  is  ungodly  to  gaze  on  that  which  God  hath  given 
over  to  dust  for  worms  to  devour — unseemly  to  sor- 
row over  a  worthless  body!  How  did  you  get  in 
there!''  and  his  anger  increasing  he  thundered:  "An- 
swer me,  I  say!" 

With  horror  at  the  awful  words  which  changed  the 
comforting  impression  of  this  dear  sleeping  mother 
into  a  thing  of  awesomeness,  the  sensitive  boy  recoiled 
from  him  as  from  a  blow,  and  stood  staring,  wild- 
eyed,  a  groan  escaping  from  his  lips. 

Then  with  a  rush  the  revulsion  of  feeling  that  he 
had  always  borne  his  father  again  swept  over  him, 
leaving  him  weak  and  exhausted. 

"I — I  can't  answer,"  he  said  faintly  in  a  queer  tone 
entirely  foreign  to  him,  all  his  defiance  gone,  and  look- 
ing strangely  like  his  mother  in  his  enfeebling  suffer- 
ing. "Oh — h — h — "  and  breaking  away  from  his 
father  with  a  convulsive  sob  he  stumbled  forward 
down  the  hall  toward  the  door,  through  the  glass  pan- 
els of  which  could  be  seen  the  first  faint  eastern 
glow  of  the  awakening  morning.  He  would  have  gone 
out,  but  the  elder  man  catching  up  with  him  seized 
him  by  the  arm. 

"Understand  once  and  for  all,"  he  said,  still  too 
angry  and  arrogant  to  notice  the  boy's  wild  look. 
"From  this  day  forth  you  don't  prowl  through  the 
woods  at  night !  I  have  known  of  your  escapades  more 
often  than  you  think,"  and  he  looked  back  toward  the 
closed  door  significantly.  "Go  upstairs  and  go  to  bed. 
You  will  obey  me  unreservedly  from  now  on — or  leave 
this  house  forever,"  and  his  face  bore  the  indomitable 
look  of  cruel  mastery  that  had  broken  the  spirit  and 
heart  of  his  wife. 

For  a  moment  Richard  did  not  seem  to  compre- 
hend his  words,  and  then,  their  meaning  slowly  con- 
veying itself  to  his  mind,  numbed  as  it  was  with  the 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    15 

recent  great  struggle  and  conquest — only  thus  sud- 
denly to  be  flung  back  upon  itself — his  head  went 
up  and  black  eyes  flashed  into  black  eyes.  With  rage 
that  was  at  once  calming  and  yet  which  seemed  to 
turn  him  into  another  being,  so  strong  with  fury  was 
it,  he  struggled  from  his  father's  hands  and  opening 
the  door  said  thickly: 

"Then  I  go  out — with  her — forever,"  and  banged 
the  door  shut. 

To  Deacon  Dennison  it  did  not  seem  blasphemy  to 
approach  God,  who  is  Love,  with  vengeance  in  his 
heart — it  was  even  part  of  his  religion,  along  with  the 
belief  in  original  sin  and  man's  worthlessness — and  so 
he  prayed:  "Oh,  God,  let  Thy  wrath  and  retribution 
descend  upon  my  son  until  he  knows  the  error  of  his 
ways.  Amen." 


CHAPTER  II 

HIGH  and  clear  the  plaintive  song  of  a  white-throated 
sparrow  sounded  through  the  June  woods, 


Opening  his  eyes  at  the  sweet  notes,  Richard  looked 
up  through  the  trees  under  which  he  lay  and  off  toward 
the  beloved  blue  bay  above  which  the  sun  was  just 
rising. 

With  a  deep  breath  he  drew  in  the  delicious  per- 
fume of  the  blossoming  woods.  Great  masses  of  shad- 
blow,  bridal  in  their  purity,  stood  guard  over  near 
the  edge  of  the  swamp,  while  all  about  him  brave,  up- 
standing little  jack-in-the-pulpits  were  holding  their 
morning  mass.  The  early  risers  among  the  primroses 
waved  and  smiled  a  good  morning  to  him,  while  Lady 
Columbines,  in  harlequin-like  splendor,  shook  their 
red  and  yellow  cluster-bells  and  climbed  up  the  gray 
rocks  seeming  to  call  to  him :  "Awake,  lazy  one,  and 
enjoy  our  wondrous  beauty!" 

Everywhere  there  were  flowers;  and  rubbing  his 
eyes  sleepily,  he  sat  up  and  half -consciously  repeated : 
"Sunshine — flowers — love."  Then  a  pang  of  anguish 
shot  through  him  as  with  returned  consciousness  he 
remembered  why  he  was  there  and  recalled  all  that 
had  happened  the  past  three  days. 

With  a  feeling  of  physical  sickness  such  as  he  had 
experienced  on  awakening  each  morning  since  his 
mother's  death,  he  dropped  back  on  the  moss,  gazing 

16 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    17 

unseeing  up  into  the  trees  as  he  again  went  over  the 
scenes  and  sufferings  of  his  last  hours  at  home. 

It  was  all  over  then !  She  was  gone —  He  had  no 
home,  for  home  he  could  not  have,  he  now  realized, 
if  it  had  to  be  shared  with  his  father.  But — he  had 
her!  As  the  sense  of  the  presence  of  her  love  swept 
over  him,  he  felt  certain  that  that  could  never  die, 
that  it  was  his  very  own  forever — no  one  could  rob 
him  of  that! 

His  slender  fingers  fumbled  in  his  inside  pocket  and 
drew  out  an  old-fashioned  locket  in  a  worn  chamois 
case.  He  looked  at  it  sorrowfully,  tears  starting  from 
his  eyes.  Presently  opening  it  he  let  his  ringers  caress 
the  few  silken  strands  of  golden  hair  curled  around 
inside  of  it,  then  put  it  to  his  lips.  Again  he  fished 
in  a  pocket  and,  producing  a  string,  strung  the  locket 
upon  it,  slipped  it  over  his  head  and  down  inside 
of  his  shirt.  He  would  always  wear  it.  His  mother 
had  given  it  to  him  years  before.  It  was  the  first 
gift  her  husband  had  given  her,  and  stood  in  her  mind 
for  the  happiness  that  might  have  been  and  was  not — 
save  for  the  existence  of  her  son.  She  had  told  him 
to  keep  it  always — that  it  would  tell  him  many  things 
of  her  in  after  years  and  prove  a  talisman  against  un- 
happiness;  so  now  he  would  wear  it  next  his  heart. 

The  sudden  whining  call  of  a  low-flying  blue  jay 
as  it  flashed  by,  almost  at  his  ear,  made  Richard  jump ; 
and  feeling  to  see  that  the  locket  was  safe,  he  again 
sat  up  and  looked  about  him.  Well,  here  would  be  his 
home  after  this — these  woods  he  loved.  The  summer 
stretched  before  him  in  a  long  unbroken  line  of  prom- 
ise. He  would  live  out  here,  a  free  man  for  once  in 
his  life.  He  would  live  deeply,  with  only  nature's 
other  free  creatures  for  his  companions.  Hereafter 
he  would  serve  no  time  at  his  father's  bank  "learning 
the  business,"  as  he  had  during  the  past  few  weeks. 


18    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"But  the  winter?"  his  judgment  argued.  "The  rest 
of  his  life?" 

"Let  the  future  take  care  of  that!"  his  youth  re- 
plied. To  live  in  the  open,  among  the  wild  things  he 
loved,  was  the  only  balm  for  his  present  suffering,  and 
seemingly  the  only  way  he  could  hope  for  happiness, 
the  happiness  that  he  felt  was  his  birthright,  but  which 
his  father  had  tried  so  hard  to  destroy. 

Suddenly  from  a  tree  just  across  an  intervening 
open  space,  where  dainty  clusters  of  wild  lilies-of-the- 
valley  nodded  their  heads  at  him,  the  brisk  call  of  a 
chickadee  sounded,  in  a  moment  followed  by  its  more 
intimate  song.  Looking  sharply  into  the  leaves  he 
saw  her  modest  little  body  aquiver  with  joy  as,  hop- 
ping contentedly  from  limb  to  limb,  she  continually 
interrupted  her  quest  for  food  to  repeat  the  plaintive 
notes : 


pee   wee  pee   wee  pee   wee 


He  smiled.  She  was  such  a  charming,  housewifely, 
comfortable  little  being — and  always  so  cheery.  Never 
was  there  a  time  when  he  could  remember  the  woods 
without  her,  summer  or  winter.  Pursing  his  lips  he 
made  the  sounds  of  her  song.  She  cocked  her  little 
head  eagerly  from  side  to  side  and  listened  for  a 
moment;  then  answered  him. 

He  whistled  her  song  again. 

"Why,  it  must  be  some  neighbor  calling!"  her  listen- 
ing attitude  seemed  to  say.  So,  pee-weeing  hospitably, 
she  fluttered  from  branch  to  branch  of  her  own  tree 
down,  down,  nearer  and  nearer  the  sound,  always 
cheerily  answering  and  looking  for  the  other  bird. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    19 

Richard  continued  to  imitate  her  song.  Fluttering 
with  curious  interest  she  came  quite  near  him,  flying 
above  his  head,  then  gently  swooping  down  near  his 
side,  or  circling  around  him,  her  eyes  turning  in  quick 
search  for  the  singer,  her  every  move  seeming  to  say, 
as  she  kept  on  with  her  cordial  greeting:  "Where  in 
the  world  are  you?  I'd  love  to  talk  over  Peter  Pan's 
gossip  of  the  woods  with  you — but  where  are  you?" 

Richard  laughed  outright  as  over  and  over  again  he 
drew  her  close  to  him,  only  to  have  her  fly  away 
puzzled — yet  always  ready  and  willing  to  come  cheer- 
ily back  and  commence  her  search  again  at  his  slight- 
est whistled  summons.  So  the  boy  for  a  time  almost 
forgot  his  deep  sorrow  in  his  ever-keen  interest  in 
the  wild  life  about  him. 

In  an  elm  tree  standing  alone  just  beyond  the  edge 
of  the  woods,  but  plainly  in  view  from  his  position, 
a  pair  of  Baltimore  orioles  were  building  a  nest,  soon 
to  be  almost  hidden  by  the  fast-growing  leaves.  Back 
and  forth  they  flew,  their  brilliant  orange-and-black 
bodies  flashing  merrily  in  and  out  among  the  soft 
green,  while  they  brought  billful  after  billful  of  grape- 
vine shreds  and  busily  worked  at  the  pale  gray  basket 
poised  so  gracefully,  hanging  from  the  drooping  tip 
of  a  skyward  bough.  Richard  noticed  there  were  two 
other  nests  close  to  the  new  one,  and  surmising  that 
they  had  doubtless  been  built  by  the  same  pair  during 
two  previous  summers,  he  thought  aloud : 

"Even  you  can't  bear  to  leave  these  dear  old  free 
woods  for  very  long — can  you  now  ?"  And  with  these 
words  he  got  to  his  feet,  realizing  for  the  first  time 
he  had  had  no  breakfast  that  morning  and  beginning 
to  feel  the  real  pangs  of  hunger.  In  a  moment  he  had 
reached  the  shore  of  the  cove  below  him,  and  strip- 
ping orf  his  clothes  plunged  into  the  icy  water.  As 
he  splashed  and  dove,  his  long  arms  flashed  white 


20  THE  IMPRISON:^  FREEMAN 

against  the  morning  tints  of  the  bay.  Silver-white 
herring  gulls  with  sun-tipped  wings  circled  in  grace- 
ful scattered  groups  across  the  cove.  The  old  osprey 
flew  from  his  gnarled  tree,  poising  erect  on  his  tail 
in  mid-air  before  he  shot  down  arrow-like  for  his 
prey. 

Glowing  with  exhilaration,  Richard  came  from  his 
morning  bath  and  quickly  dressing  turned  toward  the 
village  through  a  thicket  of  sweetbay  bushes,  that  he 
might  inhale  the  delicious  pungency  of  their  leaves 
which  he  pulled  as  he  went  and  crushed  in  his  palm. 
Skirting  the  pink-clovered  fields  where  bees  droned 
drowsily  in  the  warm  June  sunshine,  and  a  bob-o- 
link  poured  out  his  very  soul  in  rollicking  song,  he 
came  to  the  far  end  of  the  village  street,  and  hastened 
into  a  rickety,  discouraged-looking  small  store.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  sudden  silence  and  the  exchange 
of  looks  between  tobacco-cudded  village  idlers  as  he 
passed  them  at  the  door  with  a  curt  nod.  He  realized 
that  the  news  had  reached  them,  doubtless  at  his  moth- 
er's funeral,  of  his  break  with  his  father.  His  pref- 
erence for  the  wide  outdoors — the  uncut  forest  and 
alluring  bay — to  companionship  with  them  had  given 
him  a  reputation  for  being  "queer."  Now  he  was 
doubtless  judged  quite  insane  by  these  gentlemen  of 
leisure  because  of  his  departure  from  his  father's  com- 
fortable home. 

But  if  they  could  only  know  just  once  the  exalta- 
tion, the  joy,  the  freedom  of  a  real  love  for  the  woods 
as  he  knew  it,  how  small,  how  narrow,  how  impossible 
their  mode  of  life  would  seem  even  to  them! 

What  did  they  know  of  real  freedom!  Nothing, 
he  decided  contemptuously.  Born  and  brought  up 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
woods  in  the  world,  with  wonderful  vistas  of  the 
ocean  and  its  wild,  rock-bound  coast,  where  giant 


mountains  apparently  rose  straight  from  the  foam  of 
the  sea,  these  men  spent  their  lives  in  petty  bargain- 
ing or,  worse  still,  in  discussion  of  village  gossip  and 
slander.  Bah,  how  distasteful  they  all  were  to  him! 
What  prisoners  they  were,  made  so  by  their  own  de- 
basing thoughts! 

He  gathered  up  the  few  purchases  of  food  he  had 
made,  and  with  his  head  thrown  back  in  the  old  de- 
fiant manner  characteristic  of  his  attitude  toward  the 
world  in  general,  he  passed  out  through  the  group 
again,  and  started  toward  the  woods.  Something  in 
the  words  of  one  of  the  men,  greeted  by  coarse  laugh- 
ter from  the  others,  drew  his  attention,  however,  and 
wheeling  he  strode  back. 

"Don't  let  me  hear  you  say  a  thing  like  that  again!" 
he  said,  his  black  eyes  snapping  as  he  stopped  in  front 
of  a  pale,  foppishly  dressed  young  giant  in  the  midst 
of  the  group. 

The  young  man  drew  back  and  doubled  up  his  fists. 
"It  ain't  none  of  your  btfsiness,"  he  said  sullenly,  cowed 
by  the  pure  fire  of  the  other's  look,  but  pretending  show 
of  fight. 

"It  is  my  business,"  Richard  answered  back.  "It's 
every  man's  business  to  keep  the  air  pure  from  such 
as  you.  Such  words  pollute  it !  We're  all  made  clean 
alike — men  and  women.  There  can't  be  any  differ- 
ence, and  in  nature  there  is  none.  It's  all  the  same — 
any  uncleanness  rests  equally  on  both.  And  don't  you 
let  me  hear  you  mention  a  woman's  name  like  that! 
You're  not  one  to  throw  the  first  stone,  and  if  I  ever 
hear  you  utter  such  words  again  I'll " 

But  he  left  his  threat  unfinished.  From  former  like 
experience  Richard  knew  they  understood  his  attitude 
toward  civilization's  basest  fault,  so  what  was  the  use 
of  again  expressing  himself.  He  swung  on  his  heel 
and  left  them,  quoting  to  himself,  "Every  prospect 


22    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

pleases,  and  only  man  is  vile."  The  dread  black  pro- 
cession, watched  from  the  edge  of  the  woods,  had 
passed  the  day  before.  To-day,  free  from  neighbors' 
eyes,  he  could  visit  the  spot  where  they  had  laid  all 
that  was  dearest  to  him  in  the  world.  Up  the  village 
street  he  went  till  he  neared  the  house  that  meant  so 
much  of  sorrow,  yet  so  much  of  joy  to  him;  then 
he  suddenly  left  the  elm-bordered  way  and  vaulting  a 
fence  was  quickly  lost  to  sight  among  the  flowering 
trees  of  an  apple  orchard,  a  mass  of  bloom. 

To  Richard's  lips,  as  he  took  in  the  exquisite  scene, 
there  had  involuntarily  risen  a  soft  tuneful  melody  full 
of  the  hope  of  spring,  and  in  spite  of  the  winter  of 
sadness  in  his  heart  he  yielded  to  the  buoyancy  so  nat- 
ural to  him  and  began  to  sing. 

Walking  briskly  along  between  the  trees  he  espied 
a  bent  old  man,  his  features  as  gnarled  and  weather- 
beaten  as  their  ancient  trunks,  walking  slowly  down 
a  lane  between  them,  his  gaze  fastened  upon  the 
ground. 

"Good  morning,  Uncle  Silas,"  he  said  cheerily,  for 
the  old  man  was  a  gentle  soul  whom  age  had  made 
childish  and  of  whom  Richard  was  fond.  "What's  the 
most  beautiful,  beautiful  thing  in  the  world?" 

Then  without  waiting  for  answer  he  took  hold  of 
the  other's  head  and  lifting  it  up  made  him  look  at 
the  pink-burdened  branches. 

"The  blue  of  the  sky  through  the  pink  of  these 
blossoms,"  he  said.  "See!" 

"Y — e — s,"  Uncle  Silas  quavered  slowly.  "It  do  be 
pretty."  Then  surprised  himself  at  the  joy  of  it  he 
added,  continuing  to  gaze  up:  "I  ain't  never  noticed 
it  before.  It  do  certainly  be  pretty." 

"Of  course  it  'do,'  "  the  boy  answered  gaily.  "Why 
will  you  look  down  instead  of  up,  Uncle  Silas?  Why? 
Why?  People  'do'  be  queer,  that's  true!"  he  laughed; 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    23 

and  bounding  over  the  far  fence  of  the  little  orchard 
he  entered  a  narrow  strip  of  woodland  before  the 
other  man  had  stopped  gazing  into  the  sky. 

His  heart  bounded  as  a  scarlet  tanager  flashed  like 
a  beautiful  streak  of  flame  into  the  tree  just  above  his 
head,  paused  long  enough  to  warble  forth  a  bit  of 
delicious  melody,  enchanting  the  ear  as  completely  as 
his  joyous  robe  with  contrasting  black  wings  did  the 
eye,  then  flew  on  until  it  disappeared  into  the  gray- 
green  of  swamp  willows  bordering  an  adjoining  piece 
of  lowland. 

So  gay  a  guide  he  must  surely  follow;  so  hasten- 
ing in  the  direction  taken  by  the  bird,  he  parted  the 
willow  bushes  growing  between  their  taller  brothers, 
and  stepped  out  into  a  low  marshy  field  where  a  glory 
of  dancing,  nodding  buttercups  met  his  gaze,  and  be- 
yond, where  the  alders  grew  undisturbed,  belated  clus- 
ters of  marsh  marigolds  bloomed,  still  glorious,  though 
their  birth  month  was  passed. 

Almost  unconsciously  he  began  to  repeat  his  mother's 
favorite  poem — one  of  the  many  they  had  learned 
together : 

"I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 
That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills 
When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd — 
A  host  of  golden  daffodils 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  in  the  milky  way 
They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  the  bay: 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 
Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee; 
A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay, 
In  such  a  jocund  company; 


24    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

I  gazed  and  gazed,  but  little  thought 
What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought. 

For  oft  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 

(And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils." 

A  sob  rose  in  his  throat.  The  glory  of  the  sum- 
mer scene  was  suddenly  blurred,  then  rudely  wiped 
out.  Turning  back,  he  threw  himself  convulsively  face 
down  beneath  the  willows  and  buried  his  head  on  his 
arm.  How  could  he,  how  could  he  stand  it  without 
her?  She  was  the  only  person  in  all  the  world  who 
had  ever  understood  and  loved  him ! 

It  was  true  the  villagers  had  never  liked  him.  This 
dislike  started  among  them  when  he  was  a  mere  child. 
His  lack  of  shyness  grated  upon  them  because  of 
their  idea  that  "children  must  be  seen  and  not  heard." 
He  had  seldom  played  with  other  boys.  Straight  and 
tall  for  his  age,  with  a  bravery  in  his  mien  and  a 
keenness  in  his  eyes  that  the  other  boys  could  not  un- 
derstand, they  feared  rather  than  cared  for  him.  As 
the  years  went  by  and  he  grew  toward  young  man- 
hood he  looked  more  and  more  to  his  mother  for  the 
needs  of  the  spirit  usually  supplied  by  a  boy's  friends 
and  comrades.  Yet  as  he  looked  back  now  he  could 
not  recall  much  real  physical  companionship — his 
father  saw  to  it  that  she  was  kept  too  busy  for  that. 
Theirs  was  more  a  spiritual  communion.  Yes,  that 
was  it — he  knew  her — they  were  alike — he  had  always 
felt  so  sure  of  her!  So  he  lay,  recalling  again  and 
again  every  little  gesture,  every  look  of  her  dear  face ! 

Presently  he  arose,  his  eyes  wide  with  memory, 
and  skirting  the  swamp  soon  reached  the  road  where 
it  left  the  village. 

At  last  Dunham  vanished  behind  him  and  he  found 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    25 

himself  alone  in  a  secluded  woodland  cemetery 
through  which  a  brook  ran  joyously,  and  where  nature 
still  held  such  sway  that  the  few  moss-grown  mounds, 
with  an  occasional  lichen-covered  headstone  among  the 
trees,  seemed  only  a  part  of  its  quiet  life  and  restful- 
ness.  Unlike  the  living,  the  dead  of  the  little  coast 
village  found  rest  in  the  heart  of  their  woods,  and 
the  quaint  old  place  seemed  the  very  essence  of  happy 
peacefulness. 

Richard  entered  its  box-bordered  enclosure  rever- 
ently, his  eyes  unconsciously  lighting  with  pleasure  at 
the  beautiful  spot.  Making  his  way  slowly,  he  soon 
came  to  a  freshly  mounded  grave  just  beneath  a  big 
oak  where  the  brook  made  a  companionable  sweep 
inward. 

The  red  earth  so  recently  turned  up  marred  the 
peaceful  scene  strangely,  and  smote  the  boy's  innermost 
consciousness  with  distress.  His  little  mother  must 
not  sleep  there  in  such  unsummered  bareness.  Hasten- 
ing nearer  the  brook  he  began  digging  up  the  wild 
flowers  that  grew  along  its  bank,  transplanting  them 
until  there  was  no  longer  the  ugly  clay  spot  in  the 
heart  of  the  June  greenness,  but  a  veritable  flower 
bed  glowing  cheerfully. 

Smiling,  the  boy  stood  back  and  viewed  his  handi- 
work. At  the  head  of  the  little  grave  he  had  planted 
clusters  of  anemones,  her  favorite  flower — now  droop- 
ing on  their  slender  stems  as  if  knowing  this  and  sor- 
rowing because  she  could  not  see  them.  Next  these, 
wild  roses  bloomed,  sweet  with  the  suggestion  of  her 
kisses.  Then  there  came  clintonia^  its  palejyellow  bells 
hanging  gracefully  down  into  the  white  facerolTBunch- 
berry  blossoms;  and  last  "a  crowd,  a  host  of  daffodils," 
just  above  the  feet  that  used  to  dance  so  merrily. 

He  sighed.  Nature  alone  seemed  able  to  cover 
with  beauty  ugliness  made  by  the  hand  of  man. 


26    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Working  thus  for  her  whom  he  loved  had  been  a 
solace  to  him,  and  so  now  as  he  left  the  cemetery 
once  more  and  tramped  off  into  the  denseness  of  the 
woods  his  heart  felt  less  bitter  than  it  had  for  a  long, 
long  time,  and  a  soft  light  glowed  in  his  eyes. 

On  and  on  he  tramped  over  baby  ferns  and  wild 
woods  flowers,  out  into  the  fields,  and  then  down 
into  the  swamps,  and  yet  on  into  the  woods  again,  a 
free  man  with  only  desire  to  direct  his  wandering  foot- 
steps. Always  he  looked  eagerly  about  for  any  sign 
of  his  friends  of  woods  and  fields,  his  heart  quicken- 
ing at  the  glad  sight  of  them  busy  about  their  daily 
tasks. 

Gaily  marked  pileated  woodpeckers,  with  flaming 
crests,  hammered  the  trees  with  their  cheery  tattoo. 
Red-winged  blackbirds,  showing  their  buff  and  crim- 
son epaulettes,  flew  in  front  of  him  from  reed  to 
reed,  as  though  beckoning  him  on  past  the  swamp  and 
into  the  forest.  In  an  orchard  through  which  he 
passed,  a  pair  of  robin  redbreasts  sang,  the  male's 
notes  resounding  mellow  and  sweet  as  they  told  the 
nesting  mother  bird  of  his  springtime  love  for  her. 
Two  humming-birds  were  there  also,  and  had  set  up 
housekeeping  in  an  old  apple  tree,  their  little  gray- 
green  lichen-covered  nest  so  exactly  resembling  a  knot 
of  the  bough  that  only  sharp  eyes  like  Richard's 
would  have  discovered  it. 

Finally  as  he  came  to  a  particularly  thickgrown  and 
deserted  part  of  the  woods,  yet  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  country  road,  where  flowers  were  unknown  and 
spruce  and  pine  mingled  in  deep  dark  ominous  silence, 
he  was  startled  to  see  two  men  crouching  behind  a 
tree.  They  did  not  see  him,  however;  and  so  he  stole 
stealthily  forward,  watching  them  closely  as  he  quickly 
gained  their  distance.  Presently  one  of  them  spoke 
to  the  other  in  a  whisper.  At  that  instant  Richard 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    27 

heard  the  cross-country  stage-coach,  that  ran  between 
Dunham  and  the  other  villages  along  the  coast,  come 
rumbling  down  the  road.  With  a  spring  forward  the 
men  ran  from  the  depths  of  the  trees  to  the  edge  of 
the  road,  and  raising  long  pistols  called  in  chorus: 
"Halt!  Hands  up!!" 

With  heart  beating  wildly  Richard  stepped  out 
from  his  hiding,  and  eagerly  rushed  forward  just 
in  time  to  see  the  stage  driver  drop  his  reins  and 
raise  his  hands  above  his  head. 

The  occupants  of  the  stage  with  white  faces  fol- 
lowed his  example,  and  the  two  highwaymen  stepped 
closer. 

"All  out,"  they  called.  "Step  lively,  and  keep  your 
hands  up!" 

Like  a  drove  of  frightened  sheep  a  half-dozen  eld- 
erly men  began  filing  from  the  vehicle.  Richard,  too 
interested  to  think  of  his  own  safety,  stood  wide-eyed 
just  back  of  the  highwaymen,  who  were  unconscious 
of  his  presence. 

"Father!"  he  gasped  in  surprise  under  his  breath, 
as  he  saw  Deacon  Dennison  step  from  the  coach. 

He  was  white  and  shaking,  and  his  hands,  raised 
like  the  rest  at  the  instant  of  command,  had  now 
weakly  dropped  to  his  throat,  where  they  picked  and 
fumbled  at  each  other  as  he  swallowed  hard  in  his 
terror. 

"Hands  up,  there!"  one  of  the  robbers  yelled  at 
him,  waving  the  pistol  in  his  direction.  "No  foolish- 
ness!" 

Trembling  as  though  with  ague  the  man  once  more 
put  both  hands  above  his  head,  while  there  broke  from 
his  lips  a  low  whimpering  sound  like  a  cowed  dog. 
Tears  overbrimmed  his  weak  eyes,  and  dropping  to 
his  knees  he  groveled  at  the  robber's  feet,  keeping  up 


28    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

a  low,  whining  pleading  that  his  life,  his  life  de- 
voted to  good  works  for  the  Lord,  be  spared! 

With  a  feeling  of  utter  disgust  at  his  father's  dis- 
play of  cowardice,  Richard  felt  a  wave  of  contemptu- 
ous anger  come  surging  over  him,  while  there  came 
also  the  realization  that  now  was  his  chance  to  take 
advantage  of  the  upper  hand  that  Fate  had  thus  given 
him,  and  by  scaring  his  father  still  more  to  pay  back 
in  part  the  debt  he  felt  he  owed  him  for  all  his  years 
of  bullying  toward  his  mother. 

Not  until  long  afterward  did  the  boy  understand 
that  it  was  this  very  same  quality  which  he  despised 
in  his  father,  and  inherited  from  him,  that  had  made 
him  act  as  he  did  now. 

Stepping  toward  the  groveling  man  his  eyes 
sparkled  with  malicious  amusement.  Taking  his  po- 
sition over  him  just  as  the  other  recognized  him,  he 
said  to  the  highwaymen: 

"I'll  take  care  of  this  one.  I'm  with  you  in  this 
game !" 

Then  to  his  captive,  with  a  grim  smile  that,  had  he 
but  known  it,  changed  his  whole  likeness  to  his  mother 
into  a  striking  likeness  to  his  father,  he  said  in  com- 
mand: "Keep  still.  You  owe  me  this  much — you 
coward!" 

Suddenly  a  shot  rang  out  clear  and  sharp  through 
the  echoing  woods.  The  guarding  highwayman 
dropped  without  a  murmur. 

Another  shot,  quick  upon  the  heels  of  the  first,  left 
the  second  man  with  a  dangling  arm. 

"Hell!"  he  muttered,  as  his  pistol  dropped  from  his 
relaxed  fingers  and  he  made  a  spring  for  the  bushes. 

Immediately  Richard  found  himself  seized,  and  felt 
the  cold  of  steel  as  handcuffs  clicked  about  his  wrists 
and  the  muzzle  of  a  gun  was  pressed  against  his  neck. 

"Steady  there,  my  friend!"  he  heard  a  voice  ex- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    29 

claim,  and  looking  around  saw  Dunham's  chief  sheriff 
glaring  down  at  him,  and  heard  as  in  a  dream  the 
voices  of  all  the  rest  raised  in  excited  babble  as  a  few 
of  them  rushed  madly  after  the  escaping  criminal. 

For  a  moment  a  feeling  of  terror  swept  through 
the  boy,  but  looking  the  sheriff  squarely  in  the  eyes 
his  head  went  back. 

"Remove  these  handcuffs,"  he  tersely  demanded. 

The  sheriff  guffawed. 

"Not  much!  We  know  now  why  our  highbrow 
'naturalist'  is  so  dreadful  fond  of  the  woods!" 

Richard's  face  crimsoned  furiously,  but  holding  his 
temper  in  check  he  repeated  with  forced  calm:  "Re- 
move these  things!  You  know  I  was  only  fooling. 
Why,  I  haven't  even  got  a  gun !  Remove  them,  I  say !" 

The  sheriff  sobered  and  looked  at  the  defiant  boy 
keenly,  while  the  other  men  crowded  around,  all  talk- 
ing at  once. 

"See  here,  Dick,"  he  said,  "there  ain't  any  use  of 
your  using  that  tone  to  me.  Quit  it,  and  come  along !" 
and  he  shoved  the  boy  toward  the  coach.  "You  were 
caught  red-handed,  and  neighbor  or  no  neighbor  it's 
up  to  me  to  see  you  get  to  the  place  you  belong! 
Foolin'  indeed !  Humph !  Get  along  with  you !"  and 
he  gave  the  boy  another  shove. 

Richard  stumbled  forward.  By  now  the  others  of 
the  party  who  had  run  after  the  escaping  highwayman 
returned  unsuccessful,  and  Deacon  Dennison,  having 
regained  his  composure,  spoke. 

"God  shall  be  my  cowardly  son's  judge,"  he 
said,  entirely  his  righteous  and  important  self  now 
that  all  danger  was  passed.  "He,  in  the  fulness  and 
strength  of  his  youth,  hath  attacked  me,  oh  Lord, 
strong  in  Thy  good  works,  but  weak  with  the  infirm- 
ity of  encroaching  years " 

Then  catching  sight  of  the  boy's  openly  scornful 


30    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

expression  at  these  words,  following  as  they  had  upon 
his  whimpering  display  of  cowardice,  he  paused. 

The  boy's  lips  again  twitched,  and  the  man  seeing 
them  forgot  the  onlookers  he  wished  to  impress — for- 
got his  pose  of  the  humble  Christian  martyr.  His  an- 
ger blazed,  and  in  the  voice  that  had  broken  his  wife's 
spirit  he  cried  angrily: 

"Get  in  the  coach!"  and  gave  the  boy  a  quick  push 
forward.  "I'll  not  help  you  one  iota!"  Then  regain- 
ing some  of  his  old-time  righteous  pompousness  he 
said,  with  heavenward  rolling  eyes: 

"God's  wrath  shall  be  poured  out  upon  you!  He 
will  chastise  you  with  His  almighty  and  unerring 
vengeance." 

Then  again  forgetting  himself,  he  shouted  in  his 
bullying  anger:  "Get  in,  I  say.  The  law  shall  take 
its  course!" 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  trial  in  the  hot,  dirty  little  court-room  was  over. 
The  jury  had  rendered  its  verdict  that  Richard  Den- 
nison  was  guilty  of  the  crime  charged,  attempted  high- 
way robbery,  and  sentence  was  about  to  be  pro- 
nounced. 

The  pitiless  sun  beat  down  upon  the  low  tin-roofed 
structure,  and  made  the  fumes  of  the  huddled,  per- 
spiring crowd  of  Dunham  villagers  arise  sickeningly, 
while  with  sinister  wagging  of  their  heads  and  accus- 
ing eyes  they  looked  at  the  boy,  who  sat,  chin  held 
high,  returning  their  gaze  in  defiance. 

The  judge  paused  before  pronouncing  sentence,  and 
turning  toward  the  prisoner  on  the  platform  said: 

"While  it  rests  not  with  me  to  render  judgment 
of  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  accused  before  the 
bar  of  justice,  that  being  the  province  of  the  jury, 
I  cannot  forbear  to  affirm  that  I  personally  do  not 
believe  this  boy  to  be  morally  guilty,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  the  evidence  adduced  has  established  a  tech- 
nical commission  of  the  crime  for  which  he  was  in- 
dicted." 

With  a  visible  start,  Richard  quickly  turned  his  head 
until  his  gaze  met  that  of  the  judge;  and  then,  a  sud- 
den wave  of  exquisite,  surprised  gratitude  surged 
through  him,  and  his  face  became  suffused  with  an 
eager,  almost  smiling,  light.  Gripping  his  hands  to- 
gether, he  leaned  toward  the  judge;  a  pathetically 
grateful  look  illumining  his  black  eyes.  These  words 
of  the  man  who  was  about  to  pronounce  sentence  upon 
him  were  the  first  kind  words  he  had  heard  since  his 
mother's  death  just  before  that  day  in  early  June  when 
his  own  father's  hands  had  helped  to  make  him  a  pris- 

31 


82    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

oner.  All  through  the  stifling  weeks  in  the  filthy,  over- 
crowded county  jail,  and  during  the  days  in  court  that 
followed,  Richard  had  found  his  heart  growing  more 
and  more  bitter  with  hatred,  while  scorn  of  the  whole 
village  and  its  injustice  seemed  fairly  burning  his  life 
away !  Could  it  be  true,  then,  that  he  had  made  a  friend 
of  this  judge,  he  wondered  to  himself?  Made  a  friend 
of  the  man  whom  his  father  hated  ?  He  went  back  over 
the  few  times  he  could  remember  Judge  Sawyer's 
name  being  mentioned  in  his  home,  and  the  unrea- 
sonable anger  it  always  evoked  in  his  father.  He 
recalled  also  the  fact  that  he  had  heard  his  mother 
say  that  the  judge  and  she  were  childhood  playmates, 
and  that  he  had  been  off  at  college  when  she  had 
married.  But  oh,  how  little  Richard  really  knew! 
The  judge  had  never  married!  Perhaps  that  was  it, 
his  mind  telegraphed  his  heart.  Perhaps  the  judge 
remembered  his  childhood  friendship,  and 

No  matter  if  he  did  sentence  him — as  it  now  seemed 
all  too  plain  that  he  would  have  to  do.  Nothing  mat- 
tered, really,  if  he,  Richard,  could  only  feel  that  some 
one  whom  his  mother  had  cared  for,  even  a  little, 
believed  him  innocent! 

With  a  renewed  wave  of  gratitude,  a  gratitude 
fraught  with  longing  tenderness  toward  this  just  man, 
Richard  sat  and  gazed  up  at  him,  while  Judge  Sawyer 
continued,  addressing  the  jury: 

"You  who  have  sat  in  judgment  upon  this  boy,  look 
to  it  that  your  hearts  bear  no  malice  or  bitterness, 
and  that  your  consciences  approve  before  the  Almighty 
God  the  verdict  your  foreman  has  delivered  in  your 
behalf.  Let  a  poll  of  the  jury  be  taken !" 

Amid  a  stillness  oppressive  in  its  absoluteness,  each 
juror  in  turn  was  called  upon  to  arise  and  answer 
whether  or  no  the  verdict  rendered  by  the  foreman 
was  his  own.  In  each  case  the  answer  was  in  the 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    33 

affirmative.  The  judge  turned  and  addressed  the 
people  assembled  in  the  court-room : 

"Yes,"  his  deep-toned  voice  boomed  out,  "person- 
ally, I  believe  Richard  Dennison  morally  innocent ;  but 
as  the  judge  of  this  court,  and  with  due  regard  for 
my  oath  of  office,  I  have  to  recognize  the  verdict  of 
the  jury,  and  now  must  pronounce  sentence  required 
by  that  verdict.  The  verdict  is  in  accordance  with  the 
weight  of  evidence,  no  evidence  offsetting  that  offered 
by  the  prosecution  having  been  produced.  But  you, 
his  neighbors,  are  not  so  bound.  In  the  true  meaning 
of  the  Scriptures,  'Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged.' 

"Richard  Dennison,  have  you  anything  to  say  why 
sentence  should  not  be  pronounced  in  accordance  with 
the  verdict  of  the  jury?"  And  he  looked  encourage- 
ment toward  the  throbbing  boy. 

For  a  moment  a  sickening  fear  passed  through  Rich- 
ard, and  then  catching  the  fire  in  the  other's  dauntless 
eyes  a  flame  darted  up  into  his  own.  He  felt  him- 
self fairly  lifted  to  his  feet  and  urged  forward.  Clear- 
eyed  he  stood  and  looked  slowly  about  him,  apparently 
studying  each  and  every  one  of  the  throng  of  strained 
faces  before  him. 

An  uneasy  murmured  ripple  ran  through  the  crowd 
at  his  keen,  cold  stare;  but  Richard  was  unconscious 
of  it,  as  he  was  of  his  surroundings,  for  in  that  sea 
of  human  countenances  he  saw  only  a  few  here  and 
there,  faces  that  suddenly  stung  him  into  a  fury  that 
he  himself  hardly  understood. 

Just  in  front  of  where  he  stood  on  the  platform, 
almost  level  with  his  feet,  Richard  saw  the  weak  eyes 
and  sneering  mouth  of  the  blond  giant  of  his  en- 
counter of  a  few  weeks  before.  He  was  foppishly 
dressed  now,  as  then,  and  regarded  Richard  with  an 
air  of  complacent  innocence  that  knows  not  the  mean- 
ing of  guilt. 


34    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Richard  ground  his  teeth  together  at  the  sight ;  then 
his  eyes  wandered  from  the  fop  until,  coming  to  rest 
on  the  pretty  but  painted  face  of  a  girl  in  a  far-off 
corner  of  the  room,  his  gaze  softened  with  sympathy. 

In  memory  he  saw  those  two  faces,  so  far  apart 
now,  touch  in  the  betrothal  kiss.  The  cold  light  of  the 
court-room  once  more  showed  them  to  him  as  they 
really  were — the  man's  free  of  care,  the  outcast  girl's 
scarleted  forever! 

An  anger  and  bitterness  the  strength  of  which  he 
had  never  known  before  opened  Richard's  lips,  and 
looking  at  the  man  in  such  a  way  that  no  onlooker 
could  mistake  his  meaning,  he  said : 

"To-morrow  /  go  to  State's  Prison.  I  am  innocent 
— but  that's  beside  the  mark.  If  I  wasn't — how  does 
stealing  a  purse  compare  with  stealing  something  more 
precious  than  life  itself?"  And  he  shuddered  with 
repugnance,  then  exclaimed  bitterly: 

"One's  a  crime — the  other's — Hell — but  not  worth 
punishing  or  preventing!!  Oh,  no,"  and  his  lips 
twisted,  though  his  clear  eyes  continued  to  pierce  those 
of  the  fop's  for  a  moment  more  before  swiftly  sweep- 
ing over  the  astonished  crowd.  Meeting  those  of  an 
imbecile  boy,  they  paused. 

"The  sentence  for  taking  life  is  death,"  he  said  in 
a  voice  that  could  not  but  thrill  his  listeners,  "but 
how  about  the  crime  of  creating  life  in  an  hour  of  wan- 
tonness. Isn't  that  more  deserving  of  that  sentence?" 

There  was  dead  silence,  and  he  went  on  in  his  bit- 
ing tones:  "In  this  town  there  are  three  generations 
of  degenerates  in  one  family,  besides  four  imbeciles 
and  a  blind  child  in  others.  We  know  who  their 
parents  are,"  and  his  eyes  picked  out  several  uneasy 
men  in  the  throng.  "But  are  they  locked  up?  Oh, 
no!  Are  these  pitiful  offspring  considered  dangerous 
to  be  at  large?  Did  any  of  you  ever  try  to  prevent 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    35 

the  third  generation  of  that  family  breeding  with  a 
drunkard  and  starting  a  fourth?  Oh,  no,  they  were 
legally  married!  I  go  to  State's  Prison  to-morrow,  but 
they " 

"Stop !"  a  man's  voice  at  last  broke  the  horrified  still- 
ness, and  one  of  Dunham's  ministers  arose  midst  an     i 
uneasy  shuffling  of  feet.     "You  cannot  talk  like  this.     ' 
It  is  infamous!     You  should  be  punished  for  con- 
tempt of  court." 

"I  believe  that  lies  in  my  jurisdiction,  not  yours!" 
Judge  Sawyer  broke  in  shortly,  his  mouth  stern,  but 
his  eyes  darting  a  look  of  admiration  toward  the  de- 
fiant prisoner. 

"Richard  Dennison,  you  may  proceed." 

The  minister  paused  in  surprise;  then  furious, 
stalked  from  the  court-room,  and  Dick's  clear-cut  stac- 
cato voice  went  on: 

"Last  year  one  sot  killed  another  sot  in  a  drunken 
brawl.  The  slayer  was  given  a  life  sentence.  Last 
year  the  beautiful  garden  of  childhood  was  ruthlessly 
entered  and  purity  snatched  out  by  the  roots.  That 
fiend's  maximum  sentence  would  have  been  ten  years ; 
but  he  was  let  out  on  bail  before  trial  and  escaped!! 

"There  are  dozens  of  other  crimes,  non-criminal  by 
law,"  and  he  smiled  bitterly;  "but,  of  course,  they 
don't  amount  to  anything!  Ministers  and  parents  not 
attending  to  their  jobs,  for  instance,  because,  ostrich- 
like,  they  refuse  to  see  evil;  therefore  evil  does  not 
exist!  There  is  legitimate  'petty  larceny.'  Some  of 
the  storekeepers  here  can  tell  you  what  I  mean,"  and 
again  his  sharp  eyes  went  from  face  to  face. 

"Then  'larceny'  by  character  stealing,  and  the  steal- 
ing of  happiness,  slandering — gossip — to  say  nothing 
of  trying  to  dwarf  all  individuality  in  the  younger 
generation " 

A  number  of  well-upholstered  matrons,  righteously 


36    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

indignant,  rose  to  go,  but  fascinated  by  the  boy's  look 
lingered  on. 

Over  near  the  door  Deacon  Dennison  sat  with  mouth 
dropping  open,  for  once  in  his  life  entirely  uncon- 
scious of  himself  in  his  amazement  at  his  son. 

"I  am  going  to  State's  Prison  to-morrow,  marked 
for  life  as  a  'criminal,'  "  Richard's  voice  went  on  as  he 
now  stared  openly  at  his  father.  "But  to  kill  a  beau- 
tiful spirit,  to — to- 
Then  he  broke  down,  and,  swallowing  hard,  turned 
toward  the  judge  in  dumb  appeal.  Over  him  there 
had  suddenly  come  the  realization  of  what  the  whole 
scene  really  meant  to  him.  Recalling  his  mother's 
gentle  spirit,  his  heart  choked  the  bitter  words  on  his 
lips.  His  fingers  involuntarily  fumbled  at  his  shirt 
front  until  he  found  the  locket  and  touched  it  rever- 
ently. The  man  who  had  ruined  her  happiness  in  life 
sat  dumbly  before  him,  too  surprised  to  be  able  to 
answer  back.  This  was  undoubtedly  Richard's  oppor- 
tunity to  pay  in  part  the  debt  of  scorn  and  hatred 
he  owed  for  her  sake.  Yet  for  the  life  of  him  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  say  one  bitter  word!  It 
was  as  though  her  gentle  fingers  had  been  placed 
across  his  lips! 

The  sympathetic  judge  took  in  the  situation  at  a 
glance. 

"All  right,  son,"  he  said  brusquely;  "you've  had  your 
say.  Now  I  must  perform  my  duty.  The  sentence 
of  the  court,  pursuant  to  the  statutes  in  such  case 
made  and  provided,  is  that  you  must  serve  ten  years 
in  State's  Prison.  Sergeant,  lead  the  prisoner  from 
court.  My  boy,  I'll  come  to  see  you  after  court  ad- 
journs. 

"The  next  case  on  the  calendar  is  Johnson  against 
Morgan " 

But  Richard,  tall  and  straight,  head  held  defiantly, 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    37 

looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  marched  with  the 
officer  down  the  room. 

From  the  side  windows  as  he  passed  them  he  saw 
that  the  sky  had  grown  black.  Great  jagged  streaks 
of  lightning  split  through  the  angry  clouds,  and  a 
far-off  ominous  roar  shook  the  horizon.  "He's  com- 
ing to  see  me  to-night,  tho',"  his  heart  sang  in  spite 
of  the  vague  feeling  that  this  outdoor  scene  was 
prophetic. 

But  as  shadow  melted  into  deeper  shadow  and  the 
early  moon  rose  to  peep  through  swiftly  sailing  ghost 
clouds  and  in  between  the  bars  of  his  dirty  cell,  Rich- 
ard waited  in  vain  for  the  kindly  judge. 

Going  toward  home,  the  judge's  horse  had  be- 
come frightened — had  shied — and  now  a  dark  form 
lay  face  down  among  the  underbrush  of  the  roadside, 
while  the  boy's  bitter  disappointment  grew  to  gall!! 


Dawn  broke  gray  and  depressing.  The  sun  peered 
through  a  rift  for  a  moment,  and  then  seemingly  dis- 
couraged at  the  outlook  hid  behind  a  nearby  cloud. 
Youthful  morning  turned  old  and  gray  with  despair. 

Richard  sat  near  the  little  barred  window,  his  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  view  of  vacant  village  lots  and 
shambling  shanties  that  ran  back  of  the  jail.  All 
through  the  long  night  he  had  stared  out,  his  eyes 
scarcely  once  changing  the  direction  of  their  gaze. 
For  him  there  could  be  no  sleep.  £ven  now  his  mind 
did  not  take  in  that  which  his  eyes  saw,  nor  did  he 
realize  that  he  saw  at  all,  so  numbed  was  he  by  the 
battle  which  was  raging  in  his  heart. 

Was  it  possible,  was  it  possible,  his  mind  kept  ask- 
ing passionately  of  itself,  that  he  was  to  spend  ten 
years  of  his  life  shut  in  like  this?  Was  he,  nature's 
freeman,  to  see  the  sky  only  as  strips  of  blue  be- 


38    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

tween  the  black  of  prison  bars?  Was  he  really  to  be 
made  to  suffer  for  a  crime  he  had  not  committed? 

No,  no!  his  heart  raged,  a  thousand  times  no!  It 
simply  could  not  be!  He  would  presently  awake  to 
find  himself  out  on  the  ocean's  edge  once  more,  with 
the  perfume  of  summer  blossoms  in  his  nostrils.  Look- 
ing up  into  a  vastness  of  glorious  blue,  he  would  see 
the  snowy  gulls  circling  and  turning.  He  would  see 
his  old  friend  the  osprey  fly  from  his  stark  sentinel 
tree  as  usual,  and  poising  a  moment  in  mid  air  go 
plunging  head  down  toward  the  sparkling  water  of 
the  bay! 

But  at  last,  raising  his  eyes,  Richard  scanned  the 
horizon  through  his  prison  bars.  It  looked  leaden 
color.  The  bars  seemed  pressing  inward,  crowding 
nearer  and  nearer  him,  until  he  seemed  to  feel  their 
blackening  stripes  upon  his  very  soul.  He  suddenly 
felt  he  must  scream — must  tear  them  away  and  look 
into  the  clear,  uninterrupted  heavens — or  go  mad! 
He  jumped  up  from  the  bench  on  which  he  sat, 
and  pressing  his  face  between  the  bars  tried  to  rid 
his  vision  of  them  and  see  the  landscape  free  of  their 
marring  blackness;  but  the  space  between  them  was 
too  small,  and  try  as  he  would  he  could  not  avoid 
their  imprisoning  sight.  God!  How  could  he  stand 
it! 

Then  words,  idle  words  he  had  heard,  he  knew  not 
where,  but  all  his  life,  came  to  him  as  he  stood  there 
staring  from  the  prison  window:  "Society  must  be 
protected." 

Well,  of  course,  that  was  true,  his  justice  agreed; 
and  yet — yet 

The  fallen  girl's  face  rose  before  him  vividly ! — the 
imbecile  boy's — the  village  drunkard's 

He  gave  a  harsh,  wild  laugh.  Society  protected, 
indeed ! 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    39 

Taking  hold  of  the  bars  with  both  hands,  he  shook 
them  crazily,  his  body  swaying  in  his  wild,  maniacal 
burst  of  anger,  his  black  eyes  snapping.  Yes,  Society 
must  be  protected;  but 

He  laughed  wildly  again,  and  swayed  back  and  forth 
more  violently.  The  dim,  ill-smelling  cell  looked  red 
— the  whole  world  looked  red — something  was  snap- 
ping in  his  head 

"Here,  cut  that  out !"  a  coarse  voice  demanded,  and 
whirling  about  Richard  saw  the  jailer  stride  up,  adjust 
a  key,  and  begin  unlocking  his  cell. 

The  heavy  door  creaked  on  its  hinges,  cried  squeak- 
ingly,  then  swung  outward,  and  two  officers  and  the 
jailer  stepped  in. 

"Off  we  go,  my  young  naturalist,  to  the  Pen!''  the 
jailer  said  as,  roughly  seizing  Richard's  hands,  he 
helped  one  of  the  officers  click  handcuffs  about  his 
wrists.  The  other  man  as  successfully  locked  anklers 
about  both  legs. 

"Ten  years  away  from  them  birds  and  animiles  in 
the  woods  is  a  pretty  good  spell — ain't  it?"  winking  at 
his  companions,  who  broke  forth  into  a  loud  roar  at 
the  clever  thrust.  "Yer  studies  and  'observations  of 
nater'  will  have  to  be  a  little  different  now,  I  reckon." 

But  with  the  fury  born  of  his  wild  despair  Richard 
flung  the  men  off  in  spite  of  his  shackles  and,  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  cell,  hands  clenched,  eyes 
darting  fire,  the  veins  in  his  temples  swelled  and 
purpled : 

"Take  these  things  off,"  he  demanded. 

For  a  moment  the  men,  astonished  by  the  boy's  sud- 
den attack,  stood  where  he  had  pushed  them,  and  then 
the  jailer  reached  out  his  hairy  hand  and  grabbed  him 
by  the  shoulder.  Richard  winced  under  his  grasp, 
but  in  a  clear,  calm  voice  repeated:  "Take  these  off, 


40    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

or  you'll  have  trouble  with  me.  I'll  go,  but  not 
shackled!" 

The  jailer  guffawed  at  this  assertion  as  though  it 
were  a  huge  joke.  "You'll  go,  will  yer?  But  not  this 

way,  ha,  ha!  Well,  I'll  be  da "  But  before  he 

could  finish  his  sentence  Richard  had  raised  both 
hands,  shackled  as  they  were,  and  with  an  upward  and 
backward  sweep  brought  them  down  heavily  upon  the 
man's  hand  where  it  lay  upon  his  shoulder. 

With  a  muttered  oath  at  the  crack  of  the  steel  upon 
his  offending  knuckles  the  jailer's  merriment  turned  to 
rage,  and  raising  his  club  he  struck  the  boy  full  upon 
the  top  of  his  head! 

Richard  crumpled  up  upon  the  floor  and  lay  still. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FLANKED  on  either  side  by  the  two  officers  to  whom 
he  was  now  handcuffed,  Richard  went  down  the 
wooden  steps  of  the  jail.  Although  only  a  little  while 
before,  looking  from  his  prison  bars,  he  had  thought 
the  world  was  dull  gray,  now  he  saw  that  the  sun 
had  burst  through  the  clouds  and  turned  it  to  gold. 
As  he  stepped  out  into  its  full  blaze  the  prospect  seemed 
to  his  imaginative  mind  to  promise  a  brighter  future. 
Letting  his  heart  respond  to  the  call  of  nature,  he 

looked  eagerly  about  him,  a  smile  upon  his  lips. 

The  tumbled  down  shanties  back  of  the  jail  no 
longer  looked  as  they  had  looked  when  he  saw  them 
from  his  barred  window.  The  magic  of  the  quick- 
ening sun  had  kissed  them  into  a  happy  semblance  of 
homes.  Their  very  untidiness  seemed  to  him  comfort- 
able, like  a  much-lived-in  room  made  half  shabby  and 
all  awry  by  the  playful  carelessness  of  children.  Their 
windows  were  kindly  eyes  looking  peacefully  out  upon 
the  summer  world.  Every  blade  of  grass  in  the 
sparse  jail-yard  stood  erect  and  joyful  with  freedom, 
belated  broad-faced  dandelions  peeping  up  cheerfully 
all  about.  An  old  apple  tree,  blighted  the  year  before 
by  storms,  was  holding  aloft  new  shoots  laden  with 
leaves,  determined  not  to  be  discouraged  by  the  hard- 
ness of  fate.  High  up  on  one  of  these  there  swung 
and  sang  joyously  a  warbling  vireo,  filled  with  glee. 

As  the  sun  touched  his  olive  back,  turning  it  into  a 
shimmering  bronze,  Richard  recalled  Wordsworth's 
"Ode  to  the  Green  Linnet" ;  and  much  to  his  compan- 
ions' surprise  burst  into  recitation: 

"Beneath  these  fruit  tree  boughs  that  shed 
Their  snow-white  blossoms  o'er  my  head, 
With  brightest  sunshine  'round  me  spread 
In  Spring's  unclouded  weather; 

41 


42    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

In  a  sequestered  nook  how  sweet 
To  sit  upon  my  orchard  seat, 
And  birds  and  flowers  once  more  to  greet 
My  last  year's  friends  together. 

One  have  I  marked,  the  happiest  guest " 

Then  as  the  bird,  in  seeming  answer  to  his  greet- 
ing, flew  from  the  apple-tree  over  his  head  to  a  road- 
side tree,  Richard  interrupted  his  recital  a  moment  to 
follow  its  flight  with  his  eyes ;  then  continued : 

"Amid  yon  tuft  of  hazel  trees 
That  twinkle  in  the  gusty  breeze, 
Behold  him,  perched  in  ecstasies " 

"Here,  you,"  one  of  the  officers  finally  said,  recov- 
ering from  the  half-awed  silence  that  rhythmical  sound 
is  apt  to  produce  in  the  unlearned.  "Stop  that !  You 
ain't  no  play  actor.  You're  a  prisoner." 

But  Richard,  his  eyes  illumined,  his  whole  face 
strangely  transfigured,  went  on,  unheeding.  It  was 
a  poem  he  and  his  mother  had  loved  to  say  together, 
and  now  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  very  near: 

"My  dazzled  sight  he  oft  deceives, 
A  brother  to  the  dancing  leaves; 
Then  flits,  and  from  the  cottage  eaves 
Pours  forth  his  song  in  gushes " 

"That  will  do,  I  say,"  the  second  officer  in- 
sisted, giving  Richard  a  rough  jerk  forward.  "Shut 
up  and  march  along." 

This  unexpected  indication  of  oblivion  to  the  fate 
which  had  overtaken  Richard  now  only  passed  for 
part  of  his  generally  accepted  queerness.  Yet  it  was 
remarkable  that  the  rough  men  had  walked  by  his  side 
so  silently  while  he  repeated  these  verses ;  but  as  music 
will  oftentimes  calm  the  insane,  so  Richard's  deep- 
toned  voice  had  affected  these  brutal  officers  of  the 
law! 


Down  the  street  they  walked.  Richard,  now  silent, 
seemed  to  be  in  a  trance  at  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
the  pulsing  world  that  crowded  everything  else  from 
his  mind.  He  made  no  effort  to  think.  Even  the 
shackles  on  his  wrists  gave  him  no  sense  of  weight  or 
restraint,  and  his  heart  felt  the  same  impulse  that 
prompted  the  bird's  song  as  his  physical  nature  re- 
sponded to  the  external  stimuli  so  akin  to  it. 

"Song!  Bloom!  The  whole  world  rejoices.  No 
future  can  be  wholly  black  in  a  world  so  flooded  with 
glorious  light!"  And  listening  only  to  his  heart  the 
boy  momentarily  forgot  his  anguish  of  coming  im- 
prisonment, forgot  everything  but  the  happiness  that 
came  to  him  from  the  sweet,  clean  air  and  smell  of 
flowering  things.  In  the  face  of  God's  outdoors  in 
all  her  matchless  glory  he  could  not  even  conceive  of 
anything  but  freedom. 

So  now,  walking  abroad  after  weeks  of  imprison- 
ment, as  he  neared  the  heart  of  the  village  where  faces 
began  to  appear  at  the  windows  as  though  summoned 
by  the  slanderous-tongued  bird  of  gossip,  flown  by 
magic  from  house  to  house,  he  did  not  see  nor  re- 
alize the  cruel  looks  in  his  direction,  and  marched 
between  the  officers,  exalted  and  happy  in  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  early  morning. 

The  men  flanking  his  sides,  intensely  aware  of 
the  fact  that  their  blue  uniforms  stood  for  the  Law, 
plumed  themselves  vain-gloriously  and  looked  from 
side  to  side  with  prideful  self-conscious  glances  as  they 
conducted  Richard  down  the  street.  The  boy's  heart 
was  on  fire  with  the  purity  and  splendor  of  real  free- 
dom, that  of  the  spirit,  as  he  took  in  every  sight  and 
sound  of  the  blossoming  day;  yet  he  was  held  a 
prisoner  by  men  who  knew  not  the  meaning  of  such 
freedom. 

Suddenly  a  shadow  was  thrown  sharply  down  their 


44    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

pathway,  and  Richard  saw  his  father's  gaunt  figure 
standing  directly  between  him  and  the  sun,  alert,  but 
motionless,  awaiting  their  approach.  As  they  came 
abreast  Richard's  eyes  stared  defiantly  into  the  eyes 
on  a  level  with  his  own,  and  his  lips  compressed  them- 
selves into  a  straight  line  not  unlike  those  of  the  older 
man.  With  pious  intonation  the  latter  said: 

"My  son,  I  forgive  you.  Go  in  peace.  The  just 
and  righteous  anger  of  the  Almighty  be  upon  you! 
Let  it  chasten  you  into  humbleness " 

But  he  got  no  further,  for  throwing  his  chin  up 
proudly  Richard's  defiance  broke  forth. 

"I  don't  went  or  need  your  forgiveness!  Stand 
aside  and  let  me  pass !"  and  he  strode  forward,  swing- 
ing out  and  around  his  father.  Angered  as  always  by 
the  boy's  lack  of  fear  of  him,  the  deacon  purpled  with 
rage,  and  forgetting  himself  completely  shook  his  fist 
after  Richard,  calling  out  curses  and  maledictions  upon 
him. 

The  officers  were  nonplussed.  They  were  accus- 
tomed at  such  last  meetings  between  father  and  son 
to  see  the  wayward  one  burst  into  a  hysterical  fit  of 
grief  and  shame;  so  now  they  could  not  help  but 
expect  that  just  such  a  melodramatic  climax  must 
surely  be  enacted  in  Richard's  drama.  Unaware  of 
the  actual  relations  that  had  always  existed  between 
them,  his  father  stood  in  their  minds,  as  he  did  in  the 
minds  of  the  community,  for  uprightness  and  just 
dealing.  Yet  he  was  not  popular  and  had  no  real 
friends.  It  was  a  well-known  fact  that  no  one  in 
Dunham  could  drive  a  closer  bargain  than  could  Dea- 
con Dennison.  He  had  been  known  to  turn  out  non- 
paying  renters  in  the  dead  of  winter.  There  were 
rumors  of  a  not  too  pious  past.  Even  now  a  man 
nearly  twice  Richard's  age,  and  nameless,  but  full  of 
virile  courage,  had  slowly  climbed  from  shamed  ob- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    45 

scurity  to  the  top  of  things  in  the  next  village,  whence 
he  had  gone  to  a  neighboring  state,  there  to  become 
a  power  in  spite  of  the  conditions  of  his  birth.  But 
all  such  matters  counted  for  little  in  the  face  of  the 
fact  that  John  Dennison  was  a  deacon,  a  pillar  of 
the  leading  village  church,  the  town's  principal  banker, 
and  its  mayor  as  well.  He  had  a  finer  house  than 
any  one  else,  and  so  many  men  in  his  power  that  none 
dared  dispute  his  right  to  pre-eminence.  The  merci- 
lessness  of  his  character  was  not  yet  realized  by  his 
neighbors. 

So  now  the  more  talkative  of  the  two  officers  said 
to  Richard,  in  tones  of  shocked  paternalism: 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  tell  your  father  good-bye? 
Him  that  helped  to  bear  you?'' 

"No,"  Richard  answered  curtly,  striding  on,  impa- 
tiently quickening  his  steps  and  so  obliging  the  men 
to  do  the  same. 

The  two  officers  eyed  each  other  furtively  as  though 
asking  silently  what  their  duty  was  under  the  circum- 
stances; then  the  more  kindly  of  them  spoke.  He 
himself  had  done  the  world  the  honor  to  help  people 
it  with  seven  offspring,  and  therefore,  convinced  of 
the  greatness  of  the  mated  male,  was  in  a  position 
to  know  how  lacking  in  all  natural  goodness  Richard 
must  be  not  to  feel  worshipful  gratitude  toward  his 
begetter. 

"It's  your  duty,"  he  urged,  trying,  but  not  daring, 
to  slacken  his  pace.  "It's  your  duty  to  say  good-bye 
to  your  own  pa,  who  has  done  so  much  for  you!" 

Immediately  he  was  sorry  he  had  spoken,  for  Rich- 
ard's queerly  disconcerting  gaze  was  upon  him. 

"You  think  I  should  love  my  father,  don't  you?"  he 
asked,  with  a  piercing  look  into  the  other's  eyes. 

"Sure,"  the  officer  replied,  relieved  at  the  normality 
of  the  question  which  he  had  secretly  feared  would 


46    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

be  an  outburst  like  that  which  he  had  witnessed  the 
day  before  in  court. 

"A  son  should  always  love  his  father  just  because  he 
is  his  father — shouldn't  he?1'  Richard  again  asked 
bluntly.  'And  a  father  does  'so  much'  for  his  son  by 
just  being  his  father,  doesn't  he?" 

"Sure,"  the  other  repeated,  though  vaguely  troubled 
at  Richard's  manner. 

"Well,  how  about  the  honor  done  the  father  by  the 
son's  just  being  his  son?"  a  half  light  of  amusement 
at  the  other's  vacant  look  kindling  for  a  moment  in 
Richard's  eyes,  to  as  quickly  die. 

"Can't  bring  your  mind  to  dwell  on  such  a  puz- 
zling situation,  eh?  Well,  no  matter.  Don't  strain 
yourself !"  Then  more  defiantly :  "It's  just  another  of 
civilization's  empty  sentimentalisms.  A  son  has  to 
worship  blindly  and  acclaim  the  father  who  gave  him 
birth  whether  that  father  is  fit  or  not!  Otherwise  the 
son  is  'disrespectful  to  old  age.' ' 

Then  in  an  undertone,  more  to  himself,  he  went 
on:  "What  is  old  age,  anyway,  that  youth  should 
fairly  hold  its  breath  with  respect  in  its  presence? 
Old  age  is  only  the  equal  of  youth.  The  one  is  go- 
ing toward  the  Great  Beyond,  the  other  has  just  come 
from  the  Great  Beyond!" 

By  now  they  had  reached  the  little  railroad  sta- 
tion, and  Richard  looked  up  in  realizing  despair.  For 
the  first  time  he  clearly  perceived  his  actual  situation. 
A  feeling  of  such  desperate  discouragement  and  deso- 
lation overcame  him  that  he  felt  he  must  surely  die! 

Going  to  prison!  Traveling  toward  the  shutting 
away  of  sunlight  and  flowers,  of  clean  air  and  the  lib- 
erty of  deep  green  woods! 

He  felt  as  he  had  on  those  dread  nights  of  child- 
hood when  sometimes  he  would  awake  to  feel  the 
four  smothering  walls  of  his  nursery  crowding  down 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    47 

upon  him.  There  had  been  no  relief  from  the  night- 
mare till  he  had  slipped  out  of  the  house,  and  felt 
the  cool  night  air  upon  his  face,  and  looked  up  into 
the  freedom  of  the  star-studded  heavens. 

Was  it  possible  that  his  body  could  keep  on  living 
with  his  mind  so  full  of  the  tortured  pictures  of  the 
agony  to  come? 

The  sun  went  behind  a  cloud.    The  train  thundered 

in. 

******* 

Throughout  the  short  journey  Richard  had  sat  in 
absorbed,  motionless  dumbness,  even  the  lovely  vistas 
of  woods  and  streams  and  fields,  seen  from  the  car 
windows,  failing  to  arouse  him.  The  train  had  sped 
rapidly  away  from  Dunham  and  on  through  forests  of 
firs  and  pines,  then  through  clearings  and  broad  farm- 
lands, with  an  occasional  brook  or  dancing  daisyfield 
to  charm  the  eye,  followed  once  more  by  boundless 
forest  stretches.  The  kaleidoscopic  scenes  changed 
and  changed  again,  each  as  lovely  as  the  last;  and 
then  it  had  begun  to  rain.  Soon  the  windows 
became  splashed  and  grimy,  and  it  was  only  occa- 
sionally that  the  dripping  woods  and  tearfully  bend- 
ing flowers  could  be  glimpsed  through  their  clouded- 
ness.  But  Richard  had  not  tried  to  look  out.  Having 
fallen  into  a  deeply  brooding  silence,  he  had  paid  no 
heed  to  the  train  as  it  jerked  spasmodically  along  the 
wet  rails,  nor  to  the  curious-eyed  strangers,  his  fellow- 
travelers. 

Finally,  however,  by  the  gruff  commands  of  his 
guards,  he  was  made  aware  of  the  fact  that  they 
had  arrived  at  their  destination.  With  a  sinking  of 
the  heart  that  caused  him  mental  vagueness  he  left 
the  car  and  felt,  rather  than  saw,  that  he  was  out 
upon  the  station  platform,  the  rain  blowing  in  his 
flushed  face. 


48    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

When  his  feet  touched  the  yielding  surface  of  the 
wet  earth  his  youthful  hopes  reasserted  themselves  in 
spite  of  him,  and  raising  his  eyes  he  darted  a  quick 
look  about  him,  only  to  feel  a  strong  revulsion  at  the 
scene  he  saw  and  an  oppression  that  weighed  upon 
him  heavily. 

"The  end,"  his  mind  whispered  to  his  soul  as  from 
a  resounding  sepulchre.  "Life  cannot  exist  here."  As 
he  looked  about  him  he  saw  nothing  but  dismal  dreari- 
ness and  unrelieved  monotony.  What  had  once  been 
a  beautiful  forest  had  been  destroyed.  Not  a  tree  re- 
mained. In  its  stead  was  the  far-reaching  desolation 
of  a  man-made  plain,  in  the  center  of  which  stood  a 
grim  gray  prison  behind  walls  that  reared  themselves 
darkly  against  the  paler  gray  of  the  sky.  The  low-lying 
against  the  paler  gray  of  the  sky.  The  low-lying 
buildings  suggested  to  Richard  the  sinister  crouch  of  a 
wild  animal  made  ready  for  its  death  spring,  or  a 
demon,  half  devil,  half  man,  crouching  in  wait  for 
its  prey!  The  scene  looked  as  black  and  degrading 
to  purity  of  thought  as  crime  itself.  Richard  seemed 
to  feel  all  the  good  in  him  shrink  away  in  revolt. 
Every  softening  caress  which  Nature  and  her  father, 
Time,  are  wont  to  bestow  upon  man's  devastation 
had  apparently  been  thwarted  or  uprooted;  for  not  a 
sprig  or  spray,  flower  or  single  blade  of  grass  could 
be  seen.  Righteous  man,  in  his  effort  to  protect  him- 
self against  any  possible  escape  of  wnrighteous  man 
to  the  sheltering  woods,  had  deliberately  scarred  and 
defiled  the  face  of  Mother  Earth  with  an  entirety  of 
destructiveness  which  human  beings  alone  know.  The 
building  of  that  prison  was  a  crime  which  had  been 
enacted  in  the  name  of  justice,  and  supposedly  stood 
a  monument  for  the  upbuilding  of  virtue.  Instead,  it 
suggested,  in  its  ugly  barrenness,  vice  alone!  Could 
the  angels  who  cast  the  Prince  of  Darkness  from  Para- 
dise have  chosen  another  place  than  Hades  to  which  to 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    49 

consign  him  for  eternity,  this  spot  so  prepared  would 
have  been  most  propitious;  for,  in  outward  aspect  at 
least,  it  suggested  naught  but  evil,  desolation,  and  re- 
volting ugliness.  And  though  this  was  not  yet  appar- 
ent to  Richard,  its  external  features  but  typified  its 
essential  character.  Built  to  protect  Society  against 
the  criminal,  it  had  become  Society's  Frankenstein, 
making  and  turning  out  the  very  thing  it  sought  to 
repress ! 

Striding  on  dumbly  between  the  two  officers  Rich- 
ard presently  reached  and  entered  the  barred  gates 
that  opened  at  his  approach  like  the  hungry  jaws  of 
the  crouching  monsters  symbolized  by  the  buildings. 
A  big  burly  man  in  uniform  took  him  in  charge  from 
the  not  unwilling  hands  of  his  guards,  and,  with  a 
few  coarse  jesting  remarks,  conducted  him  across  the 
stone-flagged  court-yard,  in  which  he  saw  a  group  of 
blear-eyed,  lolling-tongued  blood-hounds  savagely 
straining  at  their  leashes. 

Very  soon  they  reached  the  entrance  of  the  main 
building,  and  with  a  command  to  Richard  to  precede 
him,  they  entered  and  closed  the  door.  Richard  no- 
ticed just  ahead  of  them  another  door  marked  "War- 
den." Opening  this,  his  new  guide  half  shoved,  half 
led  Richard  through  it,  and  he  found  himself  stand- 
ing in  front  of  an  elderly  man  seated  at  a  desk. 

The  guide  saluted  respectfully,  and,  looking  up, 
without  so  much  as  a  greeting,  the  warden  asked 
Richard  a  curt  question. 

"It's  the  new  prisoner  from  Dunham,  sir,"  the 
guide  volunteered,  handing  him  some  papers  deliv- 
ered by  the  Dunham  officers.  And  peering  up  at  Rich- 
ard near-sightedly,  the  warden  continued: 

"Name?" 

"Richard  Dennison,"  the  boy  answered  dazedly. 

"Your  father's?" 


50    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Richard  flushed,  but  answered  "John  Dennison." 

"You  say  'Sir'  to  me,"  the  man  warned  shortly. 
"Your  mother?" 

Richard's  eyes  blazed,  flared.  "Her  name's  to  be 
left  out  of  this,"  he  said  defiantly. 

The  warden  looked  up  sharply  from  the  paper  on 
which  he  had  been  scribbling  Richard's  answers.  "No 
impertinence!"  he  said  shortly.  "Answer  my  ques- 
tions !" 

A  feeling  of  utter  hopelessness  and  degradation  un- 
like anything  which  the  courageous  boy  had  ever  ex- 
perienced before  swept  over  him,  and  with  surprise 
Richard  heard  himself  answer  meekly:  "Margaret 
Marshall."  Was  it  possible  that  the  oppression  of  the 
ill-smelling  place  was  already  laying  hands  upon  him  ? 

"Age?"  The  warden's  hard  voice  broke  in  upon 
his  thoughts. 

"Eighteen,"  Richard  again  answered. 

"History  of  crime?" 

For  a  moment  Richard  stared,  really  puzzled;  but 
the  warden,  thinking  it  only  another  display  of  imper- 
tinence on  his  part,  scowled  deeply  and  raising  his 
voice  repeated  the  question,  enunciating  every  word 
sharply. 

"If  I  told  you  the  truth,"  Richard  said  coldly, 
"you'd  call  it  a  lie.  The  truth  you  and  the  law  want 
is  a  lie."  Then  more  cynically:  "Why  question  a 
prisoner  anyway?  In  your  estimation,  is  a  criminal 
capable  of  telling  the  truth?" 

The  warden  flushed  and  bit  his  lips  for  control, 
but  said  patiently,  "Young  fellow,  this  isn't  a  very 
auspicious  beginning  for  a  life  wherein  obedience  is 
paramount  to  all  else.  You  won't  find  things  made  any 
easier  if  you  start  monkey  business  with  that  tongue 
of  yours  to  me!  Don't  you  know,  you  young  fool, 
that  I  have  absolute  power  over  you?  You  don't 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    51 

belong  to  the  State  any  longer.  You  belong  to  me! 
I'm  the  boss  of  this  ranch  and  my  advice  to  you  is 
to  answer  my  questions  and  pretty  quick,  too!  What 
were  you  sent  up  for?" 

"Highway  robbery,"  Richard  answered,  and  the 
warden,  scribbling  down  that  information  without 
comment,  handed  a  slip  of  paper  to  his  conductor,  then 
turned  back  to  his  desk. 

The  man  took  it  and,  with  a  respectful  nod  to  his 
superior,  gruffly  commanded  Richard  to  walk  ahead 
of  him.  Out  from  the  main  building  they  went, 
crossed  the  court-yard,  and  entered  another  building 
on  the  opposite  side.  Here,  in  a  large  room  in  full 
view  of  passers-by,  with  no  screens  or  any  other  mode 
of  protection,  Richard  was  commanded  to  undress. 
This  he  began  to  do  so  slowly  and  with  so  much  show 
of  reluctance  that  his  guard  lost  patience  and  prac- 
tically tore  his  clothes  off,  and,  making  them 
into  a  bundle,  disappeared  from  the  room.  Fearing 
lest  his  locket  be  taken  also,  Richard  surreptitiously 
slipped  it  beneath  his  tongue  while  the  guard  was  out. 
A  few  minutes  later  the  guard  returned  with  a  prison 
outfit  in  his  hands,  which  he  ordered  Richard  to  don. 
Looking  to  see  what  he  had  brought,  Richard  discov- 
ered a  coarse  and  worn  set  of  underclothes,  a  pair  of 
clumsy  boots,  and  a  much-used  black-and-white-striped 
uniform  reeking  with  dirt. 

"I'll  not  wear  these!''  he  exclaimed  furiously,  turn- 
ing sick  with  disgust  at  the  sight  of  their  unlaundered 
condition,  and  the  crawling  vermin  in  plain  view  upon 
them. 

"We'll  jes'  see,  my  young  dandy,"  his  burly  guard 
exclaimed;  and  catching  the  boy  by  the  arms  forced 
the  shirt  over  his  frantically  struggling  shoulders. 

"I'll  not  stand  it!"  Richard  panted,  struggling  des- 
perately. "The  filthy  rags !" 


52    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

But  having  become  unmanageable  by  now,  his  com- 
panion greatly  simplified  matters  by  knocking  him 
down  with  his  loaded  stick  and  putting  the  clothing 
on  him  while  he  was  yet  unable  to  rise. 

When  Richard  had  recovered  from  this  gently  per- 
suasive argument,  he  was  led  out  into  another  corri- 
dor, and  saw  ahead  of  him  another  glass  door,  this 
time  marked  "Principal  Keeper."  Through  this  his 
guard  pushed  him,  stopping  his  stumbling  entrance 
with  a  jerk  that  brought  him  up  directly  in  front  of 
a  grizzly,  ill-kempt  man,  who  at  once  proceeded  to  pro- 
pound him  a  series  of  questions  much  as  the  warden 
had  done.  Scribbling  his  answers  in  a  greatly  be- 
thumbed  ledger,  the  keeper  added  to  his  questions 
others  pertaining  to  Richard's  religion  and  the  life  and 
habits  of  his  ancestors. 

"Married?" 

"No."  Richard  answered. 

"Look  here,  boy,"  the  principal  keeper  said.  "I 
am  'Sir'  to  you.  It  ain't  going  to  help  you  any  to  be 
disrespectful  to  your  betters.  We  don't  treat  crim- 
inals like  pampered  sick  folks  in  this  here  institution! 
We  make  'em  repent.  There  ain't  no  'soft  soap'  here. 
How  many  terms  have  you  served?" 

Richard's  eyes  darted  fire  at  this  way  of  putting  the 
question;  but  he  answered  with  evident  control: 
"None." 

"You  mean  to  say  this  is  your  first  offense?" 

"Yes." 

The  Principal  Keeper's  lips  curled  into  an  amused 
sneer,  and  he  held  his  pen  suspended  in  air  as  he  ex- 
claimed jocosely :  "Now  tell  the  truth,  son,  and  shame 
the  devil  for  once !" 

It  was  evident  to  Richard  that  that  was  just  ex- 
actly what  such  men  as  these  keepers  had  no  wish 
that  a  prisoner  should  do;  and  his  anger  welling  up 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    53 

at  the  injustice  of  their  whole  attitude,  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  had  exclaimed  to  the  warden : 

"Truth?  Who  would  believe  me  if  I  did  tell  the 
truth!"  and  he  laughed.  The  place  and  what  he  had 
gone  through  were  beginning  to  excite  him  just  as  the 
Dunham  jail  had  done.  "Truth,  indeed !  Isn't  it  part 
of  your  'system'  to  disbelieve  everything  a  prisoner 
says  just  because  he  is  a  prisoner?  I  could  tell  you 
any  old  lie  I  please  anyhow,  and  how  would  you  know 
the  difference?  Do  you  always  make  up  your  prison 
statistics  in  the  manner  you  and  the  warden,  to  say 
nothing  of  this  brute,  have  employed  toward  me?  If 
so,  and  you  don't  believe  prisoners  can  tell  the  truth, 
what  earthly  good  are  your  statistics?  If  I  told  you 
I  had  had  eight  wives  and,  like  Blue  Beard,  murdered 
them  all  of  a  summer's  evening;  or  that  I  had  broken 
into  all  the  banks  in  New  York  City  and  gone  to 
Paris  on  the  proceeds,  would  you  know  the  difference, 
or  believe  me?"  he  asked  in  indignant  wrath.  Then, 
with  a  deeper  sneer  he  continued  before  the  discon- 
certed man  could  stop  him: 

"You  doubtless  would  believe  that!  If  a  prisoner 
tells  a  black  enough  record  to  satisfy  his  self-satisfied 
questioner,  he  is  believed  perhaps;  but  if  he  happens 
to  have  a  white  record  and  tells  it,  as  in  my  case — 
what  then?  All  of  which  is  part  and  parcel  of  the 
same  sane  and  merciful  justice  I've  been  bucking  up 
against  the  past  few  weeks!"  And  he  again  laughed 
scornfully,  staring  at  the  man  with  defiance. 

The  keeper  had  sat  in  open-mouthed  astonishment 
at  the  boy's  tirade.  He  was  so  used  to  crushed  and 
dejected  prisoners  if  coming  in  to  serve  for  their  first 
offense,  or  deliberately  surly  and  profane  ones  if  for 
their  second,  that  he  could  not  at  all  understand  this 
boy's  attitude.  Now,  however,  his  over-developed 
sense  of  importance  coming  uppermost,  it  produced  in 


54    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

him  the  thought  that  the  boy  was  simply  disrespect- 
ful. His  anger,  therefore,  arising  in  proportion  to  the 
indignity  he  conceived  had  been  done  his  all-powerful 
personage,  he  exclaimed  roughly: 

'That  will  do  for  you!"  And  turning  he  took 
from  his  desk  a  printed  card,  and  a  metal  badge 
bearing  a  number. 

"Here's  the  rules  of  this  prison.  Read  'em.  And  if 
you  know  what's  good  for  your  hide  you'll  abide  by 
'em — and  no  more  back  talk,  neither!  Your  num- 
ber is  XX2QX.  Your  cell,  13.  Corporal,  take  him 
in  to  the  chaplain.  Reckon  he  needs  a  little  soul's 
salvation  all  right."  And  without  further  ado  he 
directed  his  attention  to  the  next  prisoner,  who  had 
just  been  brought  in. 

Richard  and  his  guard  went  on  to  an  office  next 
to  that  of  the  principal  keeper.  The  boy  felt  an  in- 
creased disgust  encompass  him  at  sight  of  the  sancti- 
monious-faced man  garbed  like  a  priest,  smirking  and 
rubbing  his  plump  unmanly  hands  together  in  a  typi- 
cally clerical  manner.  There  was  obvious  insincerity 
in  the  pretended  warmth  of  brotherly  greetings  offered 
Richard,  and  his  beady,  shifting  eyes  took  in  Richard's 
figure  with  a  coldness  of  expression  that  alone  would 
have  marked  the  man  as  a  hypocrite.  Then  impres- 
sively, in  the  well-drilled  but  utterly  indifferent  tone 
of  a  second-rate  actor  reciting  a  part  for  the  thou- 
sandth time: 

"My  son,  may  God's  mercy  rest  upon  you  and  make 
you  answer  truthfully,  telling  me  fully  all  thine  iniqui- 
ties. May  you  repent  of  your  ways  and  see  the  light 
that  has  guided  so  many  faltering  footsteps  to  the 
Throne  of  Glory.  My  son,  may  He " 

"I'm  not  your  son,"  Richard  heard  himself  break 
in  impatiently,  and  was  immediately  rewarded  by  a 
quick  change  in  the  man  before  him. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    55 

In  fussy,  high-toned  annoyance,  the  chaplain  sput- 
tered and  scolded  vehemently,  and  turning  to  a  stenog- 
rapher he  said:  "Take  this  boy's  criminal  history.  I 
won't  question  such  an  impudent  upstart."  And  for 
the  third  time  Richard  began  to  be  plied  with  the  same 
old  questions: 

"Your  name?" 

"My  name,"  he  said  solemnly,  a  grim  amusement 
gleaming  in  his  somber  eyes,  "is  Beelzebub  Black. 
My  father's  was  Balaam  Bartholomew.  I'm  eighty- 
six  years  old  and  I  murdered  all  eight  of  my  wives 
one  Summer's  evening  not  long  ago.  After  that  I  robbed 
the  United  States  Treasury  and  went  to  Paris  on  the 
proceeds.  Anything  else  you  would  like  to  ask  me?" 

"Humph.  Bughouse!"  the  chaplain  commented  un- 
sympathetically.  "Better  get  him  along  to  the  doc- 
tor," speaking  to  Richard's  guard,  but  handing  Rich- 
ard a  Bible. 

"This  is  God's  Holy  Word,  my  son,"  he  again  said 
in  his  stage  tone  of  benevolence.  "Take  it  with  my 
blessing,  study  it,  and  repent.  And  now  you  may  go 
in  peace.  Amen." 

And  thereupon  Richard's  spiritual  adviser  turned 
to  the  task  upon  his  desk — that  of  writing  pious 
sentiments  on  the  fly-leaf  of  another  Bible  for  a 
feminine  admirer  who  came  to  the  prison  in  pre- 
tense of  converting  the  prisoners,  but  whose  emo- 
tional fervor  generally  spent  itself  long  before  she 
reached  them.  "The  poor,  dear,  unselfish  chaplain" 
alone  receiving  her  merciful  ministrations.  Had  she 
but  known  it,  the  poor,  dear,  unselfish  chaplain  had  tried 
every  other  possible  job  and  failed;  therefore,  he  had 
been  "called"  here,  where  he  could  fail  with  perfect 
impunity,  for  nobody  could  expect  that  real  talent 
should  be  wasted  on  mere  criminals  when  the  "Heathen 


56    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Chinese,"  and  others,  remained  unconverted  to  Chris- 
tianity. 

At  the  command  of  his  guide  Richard,  more  out- 
raged and  defiant  than  ever,  went  into  the  doctor's 
office.  This  kindly  little  man  smiled  up  at  him  imme- 
diately, and  seeing  this  Richard's  own  face  took  on  a 
brighter  look  in  sympathy.  Again  he  was  asked  the 
same  old  questions,  but  this  time  he  answered  them 
as  directly  as  possible. 

"Pull  off  your  clothes,  my  boy,"  the  doctor  said  in 
a  brisk  but  not  unkindly  tone.  "That's  it,"  as  Richard 
silently  obeyed.  "Now  we'll  see  what  health  the  State's 
new  charge  has  got.  It  must  be  pretty  good  to  stand 
this  place " 

Then  he  bit  his  lips  and  left  his  remark  unfinished 
to  say  instead :  "You've  lived  in  the  open  mostly,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  Richard  answered,  picturing  to  himself 
the  bay  with  its  rock-bound  coast  at  the  doctor's  ques- 
tion. Was  it  possible,  he  wondered  to  himself,  that 
he  would  not  see  this  for  ten  years?  A  lump  rose 
in  his  throat. 

The  doctor  found  Richard  in  perfect  physical  con- 
dition, and  his  eyes  lighted  up  with  involuntary  ad- 
miration of  the  boy's  clean-limbed,  nude  beauty. 

He  sighed  and  handed  Richard  his  clothes.  "Son," 
he  said,  "I'm  sorry  to  see  God's  perfect  handi- 
work like  you  in  a  place  like  this  when  you  could 
be  of  so  much  use  in  the  world."  Then  again  he 
stopped  talking,  only  to  say  a  second  later  as  the  guard 
gave  Richard  a  command: 

"If  you  need  me  any  time,  send  for  me.  I'd  like 
to  help  you  fellows  more.  Somehow  I  believe  if  things 

were  different "  But  for  the  third  time  he  went 

no  further. 

Richard's  impulsive  nature  had  understood  the  un- 
spoken words,  however,  and  his  heart,  so  hungry  for 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    57 

sympathy,  had  gone  out  to  the  doctor  with  a  passion 
of  gratitude.  Putting  his  hand  out,  he  grasped  the 
other's  hand  impulsively.  "Thanks,"  he  said,  looking 
deep  into  his  eyes  before  obeying,  reluctantly,  the 
guard's  repeated  command  to  march  ahead  of  him  and 
out  of  the  room. 

Dr.  Deever  shook  his  head  sadly,  muttering  to  him- 
self:  "Now  that  boy  has  possibilities.  I  don't  care 
what  he  did!  But  in  here! "  leaving  his  com- 
ment unfinished,  only  to  go  on  thinking,  "Physical 
and  mental  and  moral  injustice.  Insult  and  abuse — 
filthy  clothes — and  a  Bible!"  These  were  the  State's 
complete  outfit  for  this  boy's  expected  commencement 
of  a  life  of  reform!  No  possible  hope  of  commenda- 
tion or  reward,  no  commuting  of  his  sentence  if  his 
crime  has  been  atoned  for  and  his  reformation  accom- 
plished before  the  allotted  term  shall  have  expired! 
What  was  the  use  of  it  all?"  shaking  his  head  in 
troubled  protest  at  this  enigma  of  "justice."  Sitting 
silently,  he  listened  to  the  boy's  footsteps  echo  and  re- 
echo as  the  guard  guided  him  noisily  down  the  foul 
concrete  halls.  For  the  thousandth  time  he  asked  him- 
self whether  the  theories  of  his  friend,  Judge  Sawyer, 
about  prisons  were  not  better  and  more  reasonable  than 
this  actuality?  Yet  the  people  of  his  state  considered 
Judge  Sawyer  a  crank.  Because  he  had  once  publicly 
criticised  the  actual  operation  of  the  prisons,  he  had 
lost  his  election  to  Congress.  He  would  doubtless  lose 
his  judgeship  too  if  he  failed  to  take  the  warnings 
now  so  subtly  appearing  in  the  local  press !  Dr.  Deever 
sighed.  He  must  look  Judge  Sawyer  up  the  next 
time  he  got  a  chance.  He  would  like  to  hear  more  of 
his  ideas  about  prisons  and  their  possible  influence  for 
good  if  run  along  different  lines.  With  a  sense  of  real 
sympathy  for  the  boy  he  turned  back  to  his  work — 
the  examination  of  the  next  newcomer  upon  his  list. 


58    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Soon  Richard  and  his  guard  reached  a  sheet-iron 
door,  and  the  guard,  opening  it,  ordered  Richard  to 
mount  the  flight  of  steps  that  he  could  see  but  dimly. 
These  steps  led  to  a  gallery,  and,  after  locking  and 
double  locking  the  door  behind  them,  the  guard  fol- 
lowed Richard  up  and  on  past  rows  of  cells,  until, 
reaching  the  one  marked  13,  he  commanded  him  to 
halt  in  front  of  it.  Stepping  further  down  the  gal- 
lery, the  guard  began  working  a  heavy  lever  some- 
where in  the  semi-darkness. 

Richard  peered  in  the  direction  of  the  noise  which 
the  squeaking  lever  made,  hardly  able  to  discern  him, 
but  saw  that  he  was  turning  a  crank.  At  that  moment 
a  large  black  iron  bar  that  ran  the  length  of  the  gal- 
lery, barring  and  locking  as  one  the  row  of  cells, 
began  to  lift  slowly.  Watching  this  in  fascinated  won- 
der, Richard  saw  it  come  to  rest  above  the  upper  open- 
ing of  the  grated  doors.  The  guard  ceased  his  work 
and  strode  back  to  where  Richard  stood,  and,  apply- 
ing a  key,  unlocked  the  double  lock  of  cell  No.  13. 
With  a  brutal  gesture  he  said,  as  its  door  swung  out : 
"Get  in.  And  quick,  too!" 

Richard,  obeying,  entered,  and  found  himself  in  a 
small  stone-lined  vault  that  was  not  over  three  feet 
wide.  In  the  corridor  opposite  the  door  there  was  a 
window,  too  near  the  ceiling  and  too  tiny  to  give  other 
than  a  faint  ray  of  light;  but  by  its  glimmer  Richard 
could  see  a  bundle  of  disheveled  straw  and  ragged 
bedclothes  in  the  corner  of  his  cell,  while  nearby  stood 
a  tin  basin  and  slop-bowl :  the  entire  furnishings  of  his 
new  home. 

Without  comment  the  guard  slammed  the  grated 
door,  which  automatically  locked  itself ;  then  he  turned 
and  again  went  down  the  gallery  and  adjusted  the  sin- 
ister bar. 

With  a  numbness  that  seemed  like  slowly  spreading 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     59 

death  itself,  Richard  saw  this  band  of  black  descend, 
and  then  heard  the  man's  footsteps  approaching. 
Dimly,  vaguely,  as  if  in  a  half-aroused  nightmare  hour, 
he  saw  him  pass  his  door!  Then  listened  to  the  hol- 
low sounds  his  feet  made  as  he  ran  clumsily  down  the 
iron  stairs  and  clanged  to  the  heavy  door  at  the  bottom. 
Richard  was  alone  in  the  semi-darkness  of  impris- 
oned despair. 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  SEEMED  to  Richard  as  if  he  had  been  standing  mo- 
tionless for  hours  in  the  center  of  the  cell.  In  reality 
it  had  been  only  a  very  few  minutes  since  the  thump- 
ing of  the  guard's  steps  down  the  gallery  stairs  had 
ended  in  the  clang  of  the  door  at  the  bottom ;  but  for 
Richard,  alone  in  the  first  poignant  agony  of  the  re- 
alization of  real  imprisonment,  time  had  lengthened  to 
eternity. 

Slowly  he  began  to  look  about  him,  shuddering  at 
what  he  saw — the  pile  of  dirty  straw,  the  basin,  whose 
foulness  made  its  presence  felt  even  more  plainly  than 
seen,  the  high-set,  tiny  window  out  in  the  dim  cor- 
ridor, in  size  and  position  entirely  inadequate,  and 
the  grated  door.  The  dark,  dank  odors  of  the  place 
arose  thickly,  sickeningly,  seeming  to  Richard  almost 
to  throttle  him  in  their  persistence.  Choking,  he  at 
last  stumbled  wildly  forward  until  he  stood  face 
pressed  against  the  barred  door,  gasping  toward  pos- 
sible fresh  air,  and  gazing  up  through  the  small  win- 
dow into  "the  tiny  tent  of  blue  that  prisoners  call  the 
sky." 

But  those  bars!  They  smote  him;  they  degraded 
the  clear  of  God's  heavens  and  seemed  to  put  their 
imprint  upon  his  very  being.  It  mattered  not  in  what 
direction  he  might  look,  he  could  never  escape  them — 
nor  the  sight  of  his  own  stripe-clad  body.  He  had 
thought  his  stay  in  the  little  Dunham  jail  bad  enough  ; 
but  this !  Those  bars,  forever  meeting  his  vision  and 
possessing  his  body,  scorching  his  flesh  and  searing 
his  soul!  They  were  black,  black,  black,  with  the 
blackness  of  despair!  He  was  barred  and  striped 
from  all  humanity !  A  symbol  of  imprisonment,  these 

60 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    61 

stripes  stood  for  the  shut-in  years  to  come.  They 
crowded  down  and  around  him,  giving  him  a  sense  of 
physical  pain.  As  one  on  closing  his  lids  often  sees 
an  object  in  fiery  outline  after  having  stared  at  it 
against  a  strong  light,  so  those  stripes  and  bars  were 
ever  before  him  now.  It  mattered  not  in  what  direc- 
tion he  might  turn  his  gaze,  they  were  present,  corru- 
gating all  objects  with  black  bands  of  crime.  They 
passed  in  through  his  vision  and  became  real  mental 
torture,  pressing  maddeningly  against  the  back  of  his 
eyeballs!  He  caught  himself  wondering  if  his 
thoughts,  once  so  free,  could  ever  be  so  again  with 
those  bars  to  keep  them  prisoners.  With  his  mind's 
eye  he  saw  a  picture  of  himself  peering  out  like  a 
criminal  through  those  bars  at  the  scenes  of  his  be- 
loved woods.  He  saw,  in  sections,  the  moon-kissed 
spray  dashing  upon  the  rocks.  He  felt  its  dampness 
upon  his  face — in  stripes! 

God,  was  he  going  mad!  He  must,  he  must  think 
of  something  else!  Must  rid  himself  of  the  wildness 
that  the  place  was  steadily  creating  in  him.  He  re- 
membered having  read  somewhere  that  prisoners  often 
went  quite  mad  in  their  cells. 

And  then  a  calm,  cold,  argumentative  mood  pos- 
sessed him,  and  he  felt  miles  away  from  his  actual 
self,  standing  aloof,  watching  the  Richard  he  knew 
writhing  in  his  petty  suffering.  The  acute  agony 
through  which  he  had  just  been  passing  fell  away,  and 
he  felt  a  bitter  scorn  of  everything  and  everybody, 
of  the  whole  world,  enter  his  heart  and  turn  it  to 
steel.  He  shivered  in  spite  of  the  stifling  heat. 

What  if  he  had  committed  the  crime  of  which  he 
stood  convicted?  Had  any  man  or  aggregation  of 
men  the  right  to  shut  another  man  away  from  his 
birthright  of  God's  sunshine  and  flowers?  Away  from 
the  song  of  birds  and  sounds  and  sights  of  the  woods  ? 


62     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

These  were  nature's  gifts  to  every  one  of  her  chil- 
dren; what  right  then  had  man  to  interfere?  If  a 
person's  body  was  ill  he  was  sent  to  a  hospital  or 
where  its  needs  could  be  ministered  to  until  that  body 
was  able  to  take  up  its  duties  again.  That  sick  body 
was  given  every  care  and  luxury,  every  thought  and 
pampering,  until  it  became  normal.  Why,  then,  should 
not  the  same  thing  be  done  with  respect  to  the  sick 
mind — for  crime  was  but  the  symptom  of  a  sick  mind, 
he  argued  vehemently  to  himself.  Why  were  crim- 
inals not  "cured,"  not  given  a  chance  to  become  normal 
citizens  again?  While  the  laws  were  full  of  specious 
phrases  indicating  their  purpose  to  reform,  it  was 
common  knowledge  that  those  who  fell  into  its  clutches 
were  invariably  relegated  to  the  waste  heap.  From 
the  moment  of  the  judge's  pronouncing  of  sentence 
they  are  legally  dead  and  the  absolute  property  of  the 
State — mere  chattels,  with  no  rights  whatever!  And 
what  was  the  occasion  that  brought  them  such  a  fate? 
In  the  last  analysis  it  was  simply  this — their  thoughts 
had  been  sick.  But  if  that  was  so,  why  punish  them 
further,  instead  of  trying  to  cure  the  manifest  illness? 
Was  the  answer  simply  "Man's  inhumanity  to  Man?" 
Was  there  no  other  answer  ? 


Leaving  the  grating  of  his  door,  he  tramped  the 
seven  by  three  feet  of  his  cell  and  tried  to  reason 
with  himself.  He  had  an  insane,  almost  uncontrollable 
desire  to  dash  himself  against  the  grating;  to  battle 
with  the  bars  until  he  was  physically  exhausted.  He 
thought  that  such  exhaustion  would  be  an  actual  com- 
fort. Yet  in  spite  of  this  he  held  himself  in  check, 
and  tried  to  bring  his  mind  to  dwell  upon  the  pic- 
tures of  his  former  freedom.  Yes,  that  was  it.  He 
must  think  of  the  woods  and  streams  and  fields,  of  the 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    63 

birds  even  now  bursting  with  their  summer  gladness. 
The  State  might  imprison  his  body,  but  his  thoughts? 
Just  because  of  physical  degradation  and  imprison- 
ment, should  he  allow  his  thoughts  to  be  imprisoned 
also  ?  Never !  And  with  the  conscious  forming  of  this 
determination  he  became  calmer. 

Sitting  down  upon  the  straw  pallet  he  shut  his 
eyes  and  deliberately  called  into  being  every  scene  of 
the  weeks  before  his  imprisonment,  and  compelled 
them  to  pass  mentally  before  him  now.  His  body  might 
be  captive,  but  he  would  be  only  an  imprisoned  free- 
man! Clear  of  conscience  and  clean-hearted,  no  prison 
walls  should  succeed  in  making  him  other  than  that! 
Free  thought  is  God  given.  It  is  the  privilege  of 
every  one  who  will  but  claim  it.  It  should  be  his! 

Then  suddenly  there  were  no  bars.  They  had 
faded  away  and  through  his  closed  eyelids  Richard 
now  looked  out  upon  all  that  which  he  loved  best 
in  the  world.  The  prison  walls  had  receded  and  he 
found  himself  lying  upon  a  mossy  bank,  the  spar- 
kling waters  of  the  bay  at  his  feet.  Fields  of  daisies 
all  about  him  lifted  their  faces  toward  the  joyous  sun. 
The  sea-maidens  of  the  bay  sprang  up  and  dashed  their 
rainbow-tinted  spray  across  his  hair.  The  birds  every- 
where began  to  sing,  and  the  flowers  wafted  him  their 
perfumed  kisses.  The  stench  of  the  unaired,  un- 
washed cell  had  entirely  disappeared,  and  in  its  place 
there  came  to  him  only  the  familiar  woodsy  smell  of 
delicate  blossoms. 

With  the  coming  of  their  dreamlike  perfume  there 
had  come  also  his  mother's  figure,  glowing  white. 
Quickly  she  drew  near,  and  leaning  toward  him  placed 
her  hand  upon  his  bowed  head.  He  looked  up  to  real- 
ize with  a  feeling  of  surprise  that  he' was  just  a  tiny 
bit  of  a  boy,  gazing  once  more  into  her  adoring  eyes. 
Taking  him  by  the  hand  she  said  in  her  gentle  voice: 


64    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"It's  springtime.  Come.  I'll  guide  you  through 
the  coming  years." 

Happily  then  he  followed  her,  and  as  they  left  the 
grim  prison  far  behind,  Richard's  old-time  joy  awoke. 

They  passed  out  from  the  woods  toward  the  arch 
of  a  rainbow  against  a  dark  cloud  way  over  beyond  the 
hills.  "The  rainbow  is  hope,"  his  mother  said,  and, 
fascinated,  Richard  watched  from  his  trotting  place 
by  her  side  and  saw  the  rainbow  divide  into  bright 
hues  glowing  with  wondrous  beauty.  Her  voice  in 
his  ear  whispered :  "These  colors  are  the  months 
through  which  you  must  pass  on  your  life's  journey." 

Looking  more  closely  Richard  saw  that  he  and  his 
mother  were  entering  a  realm  of  palest  green.  "April," 
the  voice  said,  and  stooping  his  mother  pushed  back 
the  dead  leaves  at  his  little  feet  and  he  saw  the  sturdy 
shoots  of  jack-in-the-pulpits.  The  springtime  smell 
of  the  earth  mingled  with  the  delicious  spiciness  of 
azaleas.  All  about  him  he  looked  to  see  the  yellow- 
bloomed  sweet-leafed  spice  bushes  gleaming  in  the 
April  sunshine.  Without  warning  a  gentle  shower 
began  to  bejewel  them  with  tears,  and  his  mother's 
voice  again  said:  "Come." 

Following  her  he  passed  into  a  suffusing  light  of 
lavender,  and  saw  that  they  were  treading  softly 
upon  a  carpet  of  violets  and  baby  ferns.  Clumps 
of  wild  geranium  smiled  up  at  them,  and  over  in  a 
near-by  swamp  a  glory  of  golden  marigolds  tossed 
their  heads  in  sprightly  dance.  Appealing,  delicious 
odors  filled  Richard's  nostrils,  and  raising  his  eyes 
toward  the  sky  he  saw  thousands  of  song-filled  mi- 
grant birds  flying  in  safety. 

"Yes,  it  is  May,"  his  mother  said  in  answer  to  his 
questioning  look;  and  continuing  to  look  upward 
Richard  watched  a  great  mass  of  quick  flying  bronzed 
grackles  darken  the  sun,  intent  on  reaching  their  nest- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     65 

ing  home.  Then  as  he  looked,  there  came  groups  of 
shy  thrushes;  tanagers,  gay  colored  as  a  sunset  cloud, 
while  following  in  quick  succession  resplendent  orioles 
flew.  But  almost  before  Richard  could  take  in  all  this 
May  beauty  he  felt  his  mother's  guiding  hand  leading 
him  on.  The  lavender  light  changed  into  glowing 
pink.  A  sweet-throated  house  wren  burst  into  joyous 
sound.  Apple  blossoms  sifted  down.  He  saw  once 
more  the  bay  and  the  big  old  osprey.  Yet  still  his 
mother  urged  him  on. 

"  'Tis  June,"  she  said,  "but  do  not  tarry,  for  mid- 
summer joy  awaits  us."  And  passing  into  a  crimson 
light  Richard  saw  blue  flag  lilies  growing  in  the  marsh 
and  smelt  their  insistent  odor  mingling  heavily  with 
its  bordering  trees  and  shrubs  in  full  maturity.  Quickly 
they  passed  these  and  went  on  into  the  color  of  the 
month  of  broad  masses,  where  the  heliotrope-smell  of 
eupatroium  arose  from  vine-laden  cornel  bushes;  and 
they  neared  the  breeze-blown  water.  Through  fields 
of  purple  and  white  asters,  crowding  golden-rod,  she 
led  him.  The  sweet  bay-bush  leaves,  crushed  under 
foot,  perfumed  the  clear  sparkling  air;  and  singing 
joyously  Richard  entered  the  orchards  of  golden  Octo- 
ber and  saw  ahead  of  him  the  haze  of  the  late  fall's 
burning  leaves.  Now  they  hurried  and  soon  saw  the 
smoke  which  arose  from  the  Yule-tide  logs.  At  the 
edge  of  the  forest  soft-eyed  deer  gazed  out  at  them, 
and  Richard  noticed  little  rabbit  tracks  in  the  gather- 
ing snow.  The  cold  air  brought  to  him  the  smell  of 
spruce  and  pine.  The  Old  Year,  bent  and  gray,  passed 
them,  and  the  bright  sparkling  New  Year  stood  beck- 
oning in  their  path. 

Richard  stirred  uneasily  and  opened  his  eyes,  but 
quickly  closing  them,  slept  on.  The  high  wind  of 
March  howled  and  roared,  shaking  the  trees ;  and  in  a 
sudden  feeling  of  terror  he  clung  to  his  mother's  skirts. 


66    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  my  son,"  she  said.  "Sunshine — 
love — flowers,  you  know — "  * 

But  the  roar  and  rattle  of  the  wind  drowned  her 
voice,  and  sitting  up  Richard  opened  his  eyes. 

"Here  you,"  he  heard  a  gruff  voice  command,  ac- 
companied by  the  shaking  of  his  cell  door,  "march 
out!"  And  looking  up  Richard  saw  that  the  bar  had 
been  lifted,  and  the  jailer  stood  outside  his  cell.  "It's 
grub  time.  Bring  your  slops  and  fall  in  line!"  and 
dazedly  obeying,  he  stepped  from  his  cell  into  the  hall 
and  joined  the  line  of  black-striped,  pail-laden  pris- 
oners who  shambled  and  shuffled  in  single  file  through 
the  corridor  and  down  the  iron  stairs. 

As  they  reached  the  court-yard  and  Richard  whiffed 
the  clean  air  once  more,  he  involuntarily  threw  back 
his  shoulders  and  with  a  deep  inhalation  lifted  his  face 
to  the  sky.  No  sooner  had  he  done  so,  however,  than 
he  felt  a  sharp  crack  upon  his  back  and  a  rough  com- 
mand to  "keep  his  eyes  where  they  belonged  and  march 
forward." 

Thus  the  black-striped,  lock-stepped  file  of  shamed 
humanity  went,  each  swinging  his  ill-smelling  pail, 
until  reaching  the  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  court- 
yard they  were  commanded  to  enter. 

Richard  looked  about  him  and  saw  a  stone-lined 
room  like  all  the  corridors  through  which  he  had 
passed,  but  in  the  center  of  this  there  was  a  sewage 
disposal  vat  with  running  water.  Past  the  vat  the  line 
of  men  marched,  each  man  stopping  by  command  only 
long  enough  to  dump  his  pail,  rinse  it  slightly,  and  go 
on  down  the  room  and  out  into  another.  On  entering 
this  other  room  Richard  with  all  the  rest  was  com- 
manded to  set  his  pail  down,  fall  into  a  column  of  two, 
and  enter  still  a  third  room,  this  time  the  mess  hall. 

With  a  feeling  of  nausea  that  had  been  steadily  grow- 
ing since  the  terrible  march  began,  Richard  again 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     67 

started  to  obey,  but  was  stopped  by  the  command  of  a 
man  at  the  door.  Looking  up  he  recognized  the  bully- 
ing face  of  the  prison's  principal  keeper  who  had 
questioned  him  that  morning. 

"Here  you,"  the  keeper  said,  stopping  the  whole  line 
in  order  to  reprimand  Richard.  "Place  your  right 
hand  on  your  cap  and  your  left  on  your  breast  when 
you  see  fne — like  the  others  do!  I  ain't  one  to  be 
treated  with  disrespect.  You  hear?" 

Richard,  a  grim  sarcastic  smile  twisting  his  scornful 
lips,  did  as  he  was  bid,  but  not  before  the  keeper  had 
caught  the  expression  and  exclaimed  to  himself  :  "That 
kid's  spirit  has  got  to  be  broke!"  and  he  let  his  cruel 
eyes  follow  the  boy,  gloating  over  the  knowledge  that 
he  had  him  in  his  power.  Thus  in  his  case  it  was  as 
it  always  will  be — whenever  a  human  being  lacking 
in  spirituality  is  given  absolute  authority  over  another, 
he  loses  all  sense  of  proportion  and  becomes  a  bully- 
ing brute ! 

Into  the  mess  hall,  then,  the  men  marched  and  took 
their  places  in  front  of  a  long  shelf  on  which  there 
was  already  spread  a  meal  consisting  of  dirty  bowls 
full  of  luke-warm  gruel,  cups  filled  with  a  dark  odor- 
ous liquid,  supposedly  coffee,  and  hunks  of  sour  bread. 

At  a  given  word  of  command  they  all  seated  them- 
selves at  this  repast,  and  amid  enforced  and  utter 
silence,  save  only  for  the  clicking  and  clacking  of 
spoons  against  the  ware,  tried  to  eat  what  was  before 
them.  But  Richard  had  been  brought  up  in  the  whole- 
someness  of  true  New  England  cleanliness ;  so,  though 
he  was  ravenously  hungry  from  his  journey,  he  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  touch  the  food  before  him  now, 
but  instead  sat  watching  the  army  of  flies  as  they  went 
busily  about  their  floating,  crawling,  foot-disentangling 
task  of  making  it  even  more  loathsome! 

Richard  saw  with  a  feeling  of  disgust  that  many  of 


68    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

the  men  about  him  were  gulping  and  devouring  the 
food  in  spite  of  this ;  yet  he  noticed  also  that  there  were 
many  others  like  himself  who  left  their  portions  un- 
touched. With  a  pang  he  felt,  almost  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  true  sympathy  and  pity  for  these  dregs 
of  humanity,  and  it  made  him  square  his  jaw  with  a 
bitter  determination  to  help  them  if  he  could.  In 
his  former  life  of  respectability  and  freedom  he  had 
been  inclined  to  look  on  most  men  of  misfortune  he 
had  known  as  of  an  inferior  order.  By  nature  he  was 
an  autocrat — a  being  apart;  and  so  scornful  had  he 
always  felt  of  his  fellow  man's  inability  to  grasp 
happiness,  that  his  sympathies  were  seldom  aroused 
except  by  injustice  or  some  show  of  physical  cruelty. 
He  had  believed  that  only  beings  who  wilfully  failed 
to  live  as  nature  dictates  need  be  really  unhappy,  and 
in  consequence  had  hated  and  scorned  what  he  con- 
sidered the  petty  ways  and  narrow-mindedness  of  the 
majority  of  Dunham's  citizens.  He  had  believed  that 
almost  all  of  the  suffering  in  that  little  village  was 
brought  on  by  the  deliberate  turning  away  from  na- 
ture's pure  teachings.  He  had  felt,  as  he  had  many 
times  expressed  it,  that  people  in  general  made  prison- 
ers of  themselves  by  imprisoning  their  own  free 
thoughts.  Yet  now  he  realized  as  he  looked  about 
him  at  the  lined  faces  of  his  fellow-prisoners  that  their 
suffering  was  more  than  that.  With  this  new  realiza- 
tion there  swept  over  him  a  great  sympathy,  paternal 
in  its  comprehensiveness,  for  the  whole  of  mankind. 
He  longed  as  he  had  never  longed  before  to  help  his 
fellow-creatures.  Perhaps  after  all  he  had  been  sent 
to  this  prison  for  that  very  purpose.  Perhaps  his  life 
here  could  count  for  more  than  it  could  in  any  of  his 
day  dreams  of  greatness.  Yet  even  in  the  midst  of 
this  inspiration  he  felt  his  old-time  anger  arise  against 
the  State  and  its  authority,  rise  in  a  fury  equal  to  that 


which  had  made  him  blaze  forth  in  defense  of  the 
scarleted  girl  and  imbecile  children  the  day  before  in 
court. 

In  the  revealing  light  of  understanding  and  growing 
sympathy  he  began  to  see  the  men  about  him  in  a 
totally  different  way,  yet  in  true  keeping  with  his  im- 
pulsive character  emotionalism  seized  upon  him  and 
made  him  exaggerate  even  their  plight.  He  swore  to 
himself  some  day  to  get  even  with  the  world  which 
had  treated  him  and  them  so  unmercifully!  His 
mother  seemed  to  draw  near  him,  to  warn  him  against 
this  bitterness;  but  unheeding  her  sweeter  influence 
he  felt  himself  growing  hot  with  increasing  anger  at 
the  thought  of  the  brutal  degradation  to  which  the 
State  had  subjected  them — the  utter  uselessness  and 
foolishness  of  treating  these  men  only  as  criminals 
when  they  were  still  men.  Well,  one  thing  was  cer- 
tain, they  could  imprison  his  body,  but  as  to  his  mind, 
his  personality — he  would  just  show  them! 

Turning  he  addressed  the  man  seated  by  his  side, 
although  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  such  a  thing  was 
against  the  rules. 

"My  name's  Dennison,"  he  said,  in  a  pleasant  in- 
troductory tone.  "And  yours?" 

But  before  his  cowed  neighbor  could  answer,  had  he 
dared  to  do  so,  a  guard  strode  up  and  tapped  Richard 
on  the  back. 

"No  gassing,  young  man!  Silence  is  the  word 
here.  Prisoners  ain't  allowed  to  talk  to  each  other. 
Against  the  rules!" 

With  a  defiant  lift  of  the  chin  that  was  barely 
perceptible  Richard  made  another  remark  to  the  man 
at  his  side.  The  guard's  stick  came  down  less  gently  this 
time,  and  he  said  harshly:  "Cut  that  out,  you  young 
fool !  You've  made  enough  trouble  for  one  day.  Shut 
up,  I  tell  you,  and  can  your  grub!"  But  utterly 


70     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

oblivious  even  of  the  guard's  presence  the  defiant  boy 
went  on  talking,  again  addressing  a  remark  to  his 
neighbor. 

A  fury  that  perhaps  would  have  been  excusable  in 
a  criminal,  in  the  accepted  sense  of  the  word,  possessed 
the  guard,  and  his  heavy  hand  coming  down  upon  the 
boy's  shoulders,  with  an  oath,  he  wrenched  him 
roughly,  stool  and  all,  from  the  table,  dragging  him 
sharply  to  his  feet. 

"Damn  you!"  he  said  furiously  through  clenched 
teeth.  "Obey  me,  or  you  go  to  the  'rot-pit' !"  and  he 
rapped  Richard's  knuckles  with  his  heavy  stick. 

The  boy  flinched  slightly  at  the  sharp  crack,  but 
tossing  his  head  exclaimed :  "I  don't  give  that"  snap- 
ping his  fingers,  "for  your  beastly  rules !  No  human 
being  on  earth  has  a  right  to  make  rules  that  imprison 
other  human  beings'  thoughts  as  well  as  their  bodies. 
My  body  is  your  prisoner  because  it  can't  help  itself. 
You've  imprisoned  it  by  mere  brute  force;  but  no 
power  can,  or  will,  enable  you  to  imprison  my  thoughts 
or  the  expression  of  them — and  you  may  just  as  well 
understand  that  now!" 

He  had  hardly  finished  his  sentence,  however,  before 
the  loaded  stick  descended  again,  and  for  the  second 
time  that  day  Richard  dropped  to  the  floor. 

A  rush  followed  like  that  of  wild  animals  uncaged; 
for  every  prisoner  with  a  spark  of  manhood  left  in  him 
rose  from  the  table  at  the  onslaught  and,  rushing  for- 
ward, they  surrounded  the  guard  and  his  unconscious 
charge.  It  was  not  the  first  time  such  a  scene  had  been 
enacted  in  that  prison  among  those  long-suffering 
silenced  men.  Though  each  of  them  now  participat- 
ing knew  it  meant  days  of  added  personal  misery  and 
deprivation,  their  innate  love  of  humanity,  the  spark 
of  divine  love  that  redeems  the  world,  the  spirit  of 
Christ  suffering  for  others  that  is  deep  in  the  heart  of 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    71 

every  one  of  us,  responded  to  the  call  of  a  fellow-crea- 
ture in  distress,  and  they  immediately  formed  to  mob 
the  guard  who  had  gone  too  far  in  his  habitual  cruelty ! 
Fists  flew  thick  and  fast,  loaded  sticks  descended,  and 
a  bedlam  of  wild  oaths  broke  out  as  guards  and  prison- 
ers alike  fought  out  the  world-old  quarrel  of  brutal 
authority  versus  outraged  manhood.  Save  for  the 
uniforms  and  superiority  of  their  weapons  no  onlooker 
could  have  told  the  "righteous"  from  the  "unright- 
eous." 

Finally  the  riot  was  quelled.  Might  had  again  con- 
quered right,  and  the  loaded  stick  and  pistol  butts  of 
the  guards  had  meant  the  survival  of  their  fitness; 
while  those  prisoners  big  and  brave  enough  to  have 
come  to  their  fellow  man's  rescue,  in  spite  of  all  the 
dwarfing  influence  that  governmental  stupidity  had 
brought  to  bear  upon  them,  were  dragged  from  the 
room  to  be  punished  for  the  very  act  that  proved  their 
divinity  of  soul. 

Quickly  the  guards  took  Richard  down  to  an  under- 
ground cell  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  back  wing  of 
the  prison.  Here  the  death  chambers  were  located, 
where  "Society's  murderers  were,  in  turn,  murdered 
by  Society."  This  wing  was  a  low  structure,  the  old- 
est part  of  the  prison,  and  just  back  of  it,  within  a  few 
feet,  the  prison's  rear  and  outer  wall  ran. 

To  "the  rot-pit"  in  this  old  wing  a  prisoner  proving 
contumacious  to  rules  was  sent  to  "rot"  until  those 
high  up  in  authority  thought  his  punishment  had  been 
sufficient — or  remembered  his  existence  long  enough 
to  release  him,  just  as  the  case  might  be.  As  there 
was  no  specific  term  set  by  constituted  authority  for 
any  offense,  the  viewpoint  taken  was  that  the  offender 
had  better  be  kept  there  until  his  spirit  was  broken. 
Many  a  prisoner  had  died  or  gone  mad  in  these  dun- 
geons where  Death  stalked  unrestrained  in  the  name 


72     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

of  Justice,  without  the  knowledge  or  thought  of  the 
warden.  The  offense  committed  by  occupants  of 
these  "rot-pits"  oftentimes  was  so  trifling  as  to  be 
deserving  of  little  if  any  punishment,  even  in  the  eyes 
of  the  keeper.  Yet,  as  in  Richard's  case,  the  personal 
prejudice  or  momentary  bad  temper  of  the  guard  who 
happened  to  be  in  authority,  and  against  whom  the 
offense  was  directed,  be  it  real  or  fancied,  entered  so 
largely  into  the  degree  of  punishment  inflicted,  that 
the  prison's  hirelings  could  send  a  prisoner  down  for 
practically  any  offense.  So  now  it  was  that  Richard, 
sore  and  bruised,  awoke  and  stood  up  to  find  himself 
in  a  place  the  stifling  dark  horror  of  which  he  could 
scarcely  have  conceived.  Instead  of  the  stone-lined 
chambers  of  the  upper  tiers  where  daylight  could  enter 
through  grated  door  and  window,  the  cell  in  which  he 
now  found  himself  was  totally  unlighted  and  prac- 
tically unventilated.  The  door  leading  from  it  to  the 
corridor  was  of  solid  sheet  iron  with  only  a  few  tiny 
air  holes  along  its  upper  and  lower  edges;  while  there 
was  a  series  of  three  small  holes,  no  bigger  than  tea- 
cups, in  the  cell's  end  wall. 

Through  these  at  noon  on  a  bright  day  scant  rays 
of  light  percolated,  but  did  not  in  any  way  light  up 
the  underground  cell,  for  the  holes,  being  on  a  level 
with  the  surface  of  the  earth  outside,  opened  out  close 
to  the  wall  surrounding  the  prison.  There  were  no 
accommodations  for  washing  face  or  hands.  The  one 
and  only  article  supplied  was  an  unemptied  slop 
pail  over  in  one  corner.  In  the  door  there  was  a  small 
grated  slide  like  a  ticket-office  window  with  a  shelf 
beneath  it,  through  and  on  to  which  the  prisoner's 
daily  rations  were  thrust  by  the  guard  outside.  Upon 
this  there  now  stood  a  tiny  cup  of  water  which  Richard 
was  told  must  last  him  twenty-four  hours.  The  floor 
was  of  stone  flagging  and  the  walls  were  unbroken 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     73 

cement.  Richard  could  see  none  of  this,  however,  in 
the  darkness  that  prevailed. 

Painstakingly  he  felt  his  way  about  the  foul  smell- 
ing place,  thinking  to  find  a  pallet  bed  of  straw  on 
which  to  lie  down  and  allay  the  terrible  dizzy  sickness 
which  was  fast  overpowering  him.  His  long,  fine- 
fingered  hands  fumbled  up  and  down  the  walls,  hunt- 
ing ;  and  putting  first  one  and  then  the  other  of  his  feet 
in  front  of  him,  he  shufflingly  felt  around  the  edge  of 
the  floor.  All  was  blank  and  vacant  so  far  as  he  could 
tell,  and  he  concluded  the  cell  must  be  entirely  unfur- 
nished. 

With  a  feeling  of  increasing  dismay,  for  he  was  too 
weak  by  now  for  anger,  he  went  groping  on,  believing 
the  place  to  be  larger  than  he  had  at  first  thought. 
It  was  so  dark  that  he  could  not  tell  whether  it  was 
vast  or  small,  the  air  so  bad  that  though  he  seemed 
to  be  stumbling  on  indefinitely,  in  reality  he  had 
scarcely  moved  from  the  door  through  which  the  guard 
had  pushed  him,  but  had  been  dazedly  going  over  the 
same  space  of  floor  and  wall. 

Finally,  however,  his  foot  struck  something  soft, 
and  eagerly  falling  down  upon  his  knees  he  felt  out  to 
what  he  thought  must  surely  be  the  pile  of  straw 
heaped  in  the  corner.  Then  in  dizzy  weakness  he 
flung  himself  forward  gratefully,  and  lay  for  several 
moments  in  an  exhausted  heap,  gasping  for  breath. 

He  had  not  lain  there  very  long  when  his  anger 
began  to  awaken.  His  indomitable  health  and  spirits 
were  too  great  to  be  long  subdued  by  the  cruelty  of 
that  dark  desolation;  so,  letting  this  feeling  surge 
through  him  uncontrolled,  he  found  himself  stimulated 
and  revived. 

He  sat  up  and  noticed  with  surprise  that  his  hands 
were  covered  with  grit,  and  that  the  elevation  on  which 
he  lay  did  not  yield  to  his  weight.  He  did  not  feel 


74    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

straw  nor  any  other  substance  that  he  could  actually 
grasp  between  his  fingers.  As  he  slowly  ran  his  hands 
over  its  surface  a  thought,  compelling  and  wonderful 
in  its  possibilities,  shot  through  his  mind.  Trembling 
with  excitement  he  dug  down  and  grasped  a  handful 
of  the  stuff  and  stumbled  toward  the  faintly  lighted 
holes  of  the  cell  wall.  They  were  high  up  near  the 
ceiling  and  gave  no  light,  yet  as  he  held  his  hand  close 
up  to  his  eyes  he  imagined  he  could  see  what  he  held. 

It  must  be — he  felt  sure  it  must  be — earth ! 

He  put  it  to  his  nose ;  but  so  deadened  had  his  sense 
of  smell  become  during  his  short  stay  in  the  foul  cell 
that  he  could  distinguish  no  odor  whatsoever.  Then 
he  took  a  pinch  of  it  and  put  it  between  his  teeth. 
Yes,  it  was  gritty — it  did  not  dissolve — it  was  earth! 

"Mother,"  he  murmured  brokenly,  "help  me  find 
the  loose  paving.  I  know  it  must  be  there !"  and  very 
laboriously,  on  hands  and  knees,  he  went  over  the 
floor,  feeling  for  every  crevice.  The  suspense  and 
hope  it  aroused  in  him  caused  him  acute  suffering,  yet 
his  heart  sang  within  him,  for  he  felt  that  the  way  to 
freedom  was  surely  very  near.  But  this  hope  was 
suddenly  frozen  with  horror ;  for  from  a  cell  just  down 
the  corridor  there  came  to  his  ears  the  cry  of  physical 
agony,  accompanied  by  the  unmistakable  sounds  of 
flogging.  Nearer  still,  and  more  distinct,  other  cries 
arose,  as  another  prisoner,  stripped  to  the  skin,  was 
chained  and  a  stream  of  water  of  enormous  pressure 
played  upon  him  until,  black  and  blue  from  head  to 
foot,  his  tormentors  finally  so  directed  it  that  his  cries 
died  away  in  unconsciousness. 

Then  from  the  cell  next  to  his  the  crazed  prayers 
and  groans  of  one  soon  to  be  freed — forever — but  not 
by  his  Maker's  divine  hands,  completed  the  fiendish 
clamor. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ALTHOUGH  weeks  had  passed,  and  Richard  had  spent 
most  of  his  time  patiently  groping  for  a  loosened  stone 
in  the  floor  of  his  cell,  he  had  as  yet  been  unable  to 
discover  it.  Many  times  during  those  weeks  hope  had 
sprung  up  in  him  when  he  found  a  crevice  deeper 
than  usual;  but  always  it  had  as  quickly  died,  for  it 
was  soon  apparent  that  the  adjoining  stones  were  im- 
movable without  leverage,  and  could  not  be  raised  with 
his  hands  alone. 

At  such  times  of  kindling  hope,  invariably  followed 
by  the  depression  of  bitter  disappointment,  the  boy 
would  throw  himself  down  upon  the  dirt  mound  back 
of  his  door  and  lie  for  hours,  too  exhausted  and  dis- 
couraged to  move.  But  always  he  let  his  mind  go 
over  and  over  the  puzzle  of  the  mound's  presence  in 
the  dungeon  and  its  suggestion  of  possible  escape.  It 
could  mean  but  one  thing — he  felt  sure  of  that.  Some 
former  occupant,  somehow,  somewhere,  had  been  able 
to  lift  a  flag  and  tunnel  beneath  the  cell's  stone-paved 
floor,  piling  the  dirt  from  the  excavation  where 
Richard  had  found  it.  That  this  prisoner  had  not 
completed  the  tunnel  or  escaped  through  it,  Richard 
felt  equally  certain,  for  had  he  done  so  the  guards 
would  have  searched  the  cell  and  in  so  doing  dis- 
covered the  mound  of  earth  and  replaced  it,  making 
the  floor  secure.  Richard  felt  positive  that  no  such 
search  had  taken  place,  and  knew  that  in  the  cell's 
semi-blackness  such  guards  as  might  have  seen,  or  felt, 
its  outline  in  sweeping — if  they  ever  did  such  a  thing 
— had  thought  the  mound  only  the  straw  and  rag  heap 
that  served  throughout  the  ill-kept  prison  as  the  pris- 
oners' beds. 

75 


76    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Lying  on  the  dirt  heap  Richard  thought  more  and 
more  constantly  of  the  other  man  who  had  doubt- 
less suffered  just  as  he  was  now  suffering.  His  imagi- 
nation soon  pictured  him  so  vividly  that  he  became  for 
Richard  almost  a  living,  breathing  personality,  a  per- 
sonality with  whom  he  could  talk  and  think  with  per- 
fect understanding,  a  real  companion  in  the  lonely 
place. 

But  where  was  he?  Why  had  he  not  finished  the 
work  so  cleverly  begun  ?  Had  he  died  before  that  was 
possible — or  gone  mad  for  lack  of  air,  as  Richard 
oftentimes  felt  he  himself  must  do?  Or  had  his  fate 
been  that  of  the  four  others  Richard  had  heard  pray- 
ing in  the  death-chamber? 

Eight  weeks  of  close  confinement  had  begun  to  tell 
on  him  terribly.  Often  he  found  it  almost  impossible 
to  rise  and  go  forward  at  the  jailer's  daily  command 
to  receive  his  portion  of  bread  and  water  when  it  was 
passed  in  through  the  slide  of  his  door.  Yet  he  knew 
that  his  whole  future,  the  very  continuance  of  life 
itself,  depended  absolutely  upon  his  mind's  ability  to 
drive  his  body  into  action.  He  would  not  give  in  to 
the  growing  lassitude  that  seemed  sapping  his  strength 
and  will  power! 

Giving  free  rein  to  his  anger,  he  would  fairly 
scourge  himself  into  a  fury  of  exertion,  an  exertion 
which  seemed  to  bring  on  temporarily  increased  men' 
tal  and  moral  fitness,  but  which  ultimately  left  him  in 
a  more  depleted  and  exhausted  state  than  before.  A 
man  of  less  courage  and  endurance,  less  determination 
not  to  die  either  in  spirits  or  body,  would  have  suc- 
cumbed in  the  first  few  weeks  of  this  unventilated,  un- 
lighted  existence;  but  Richard,  confident  that  he  could 
find  freedom  did  he  but  continue  to  try,  forced  him- 
self to  live  and  keep  his  sanity  in  spite  of  the  brutal 
short-sightedness  of  his  native  State.  He  began 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    77 

to  see  freedom  only  as  an  opportunity  for  the  exercise 
of  a  possible  and  speedy  vengeance  toward  that  State ; 
for  during  the  long  drawn  out  succession  of  black  hour 
upon  black  hour,  week  upon  week,  in  which  he  had 
naught  else  to  do,  the  determination  that  had  been 
conceived  in  him  during  his  first  day  in  prison  grew 
into  a  great  and  strong  maturity.  He  would  have 
his  revenge!  Born  as  he  was  with  a  master  mind 
that  under  proper  conditions  could  have  developed  into 
a  splendid  constructive  force,  Law  and  Justice,  in 
the  blindness  of  their  much  advertised  virtue,  were 
turning  this  force  into  a  destructiveness  that  grew 
daily  in  strength,  stimulating  Richard  to  persevere  in 
his  search  for  the  movable  paving  stone. 

Day  and  night  he  worked  on,  except  when  his  mind 
refused  to  drive  his  body  further.  At  such  times  of 
enforced  rest  he  would  lie  upon  his  earth  couch  and, 
giving  up  the  hunting,  groping,  determined  struggle 
for  possible  means  of  freedom,  would  let  his  thoughts 
wander  from  the  prison  and  his  life  there,  out  into  the 
open  fields  of  flowers,  until  real  sleep  would  come  to 
him.  His  mother's  gentle  spirit  comforted  and 
caressed  his  weary  body,  and  even  after  awakening 
he  would  feel  that  old  irresponsible  happiness  surge 
through  him,  resuscitating  his  whole  being. 

One  day  at  noon,  after  just  such  a  reviving  experi- 
ence, his  slice  of  bread  and  tin  of  water  balanced  upon 
his  legs,  he  heard  a  faint  scrambling  back  of  him  near 
the  wall,  and  presently  felt  a  sharp  gnawing  of  tiny 
teeth  upon  the  toe  of  his  heavy  boot. 

With  a  start  of  surprise,  but  well  controlled,  he 
leaned  cautiously  forward  and  peered  through  the 
gloom,  hoping  to  discern  the  agent  of  attack.  The 
three  holes  high  up  in  the  wall  of  his  dungeon  dimly 
illumined  small  disks  at  the  base  of  the  opposite  wall, 
and  their  pale  light  enabled  him  to  see,  faintly  sil- 


78    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

houetted  against  one  of  them,  the  erect  figure  of  a 
young  rat  alert  upon  its  haunches.  It  was  the  first  sign 
of  animal  life  Richard  had  seen  since  he  left  the  train 
on  that  fatal  day  of  his  incarceration,  and  a  feeling  of 
keen  pleasure  passed  through  him  at  the  sight  of  the 
commonly  despised  little  vermin.  It  gave  him  a  feel- 
ing of  being  nearer  the  outside  world  and  his  beloved 
creatures  of  the  wild.  His  pulses  quickened  as  with 
the  wariness  of  a  woodsman  he  held  his  legs  perfectly 
still  and  reaching  forward  placed  a  bit  of  his  bread  on 
his  knee.  Having  accomplished  this  without  frighten- 
ing his  visitor,  he  leaned  slowly  back  again  and 
watched  the  little  thing  with  interest. 

At  the  approached  smell  of  food  the  rat  ceased  the 
gnawing  of  Richard's  boot,  and  dropping  its  front 
paws  to  the  floor,  crouched  there,  watchfully  looking 
about.  Presently,  satisfied  that  everything  was  safe, 
it  began  to  scramble  slowly  up  his  stripe-clad  leg,  stop- 
ping every  now  and  then  to  listen.  The  bread  was 
very  tempting,  the  risk  seemed  small,  and  so  dropping 
to  its  all-four  again,  it  came  on,  and  at  last  having 
attained  the  aspired  goal,  seized  the  bread  and  with  a 
spasm  of  fear  that  overtakes  the  timidly  courageous, 
scampered  in  a  panic  back  into  the  darkness  of  the  cell. 

The  whole  episode  had  been  one  of  pleasure  to  the 
nature-loving  boy,  and  from  that  day  forward  he  de- 
termined to  win  the  circumspect  little  creature's  confi- 
dence, for  he  felt  sure  that  having  once  found  the  way 
it  would  come  again.  Even  sour  bread  and  a  limited 
supply  of  water  becomes  palatable,  even  desirable, 
when  voluntarily  shared  with  another ;  and  so  each  day 
Richard  set  aside  a  portion  of  his  meager  fare  for  his 
greedy  guest. 

So  great  is  the  influence  of  human  kindliness  over 
those  creatures  lower  down  in  the  scale  of  life  that 
soon  Richard  had  entirely  won  the  small  animal,  and 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    79 

becoming  more  and  more  tame  it  was  not  long  before 
it  came  regularly  to  him  at  his  meal  time.  He 
speeded  many  of  his  darkest  hours  by  thinking  of  its 
companionship  and  planning  for  its  further  taming. 
By  degrees  he  began  playfully  to  secrete  bits  of  bread 
about  his  prison  clothing,  or  to  hide  a  morsel  under  a 
bit  of  earth  placed  within  the  limits  of  the  dim  rays 
of  light,  thoroughly  amused  at  the  cleverness  and  de- 
termination of  his  queer  pet  who  always  found  these 
prizes  and,  with  only  a  saucy  whisp  of  its  tail  for  a 
"thank  you,"  would  be  off  through  the  impenetrable 
darkness  before  he  could  see  where  it  had  gone. 

Watching  one  day  for  its  accustomed  arrival  at 
noon,  Richard  was  surprised  to  see  the  little  thing 
appear  against  the  lighter  gloom  of  one  of  the  wall's 
three  disks,  in  a  totally  unfamiliar  outline.  It  looked 
to  him  as  if  it  might  be  carrying  something  in  its 
mouth,  that  is  as  nearly  as  he  could  make  out  in  the 
dimness  of  his  cell.  As  it  came  scrambling  up  his  leg 
to  his  knee,  he  was  impressed  by  the  tenseness  of  its 
whole  small  body  and  the  eagerness  with  which  it 
came.  His  hand  was  resting  as  usual,  palm  up,  upon 
his  legs,  the  daily  portion  of  bread  lying  in  it;  and 
when  the  rat  reached  it  he  was  astonished  to  feel  that 
instead  of  taking  the  bread  the  little  creature  laid 
something  in  his  hand  and  then,  rearing  itself  on  its 
haunches,  gave  a  faint,  harsh  squeak! 

His  fingers  involuntarily  closed  over  the  object,  and 
the  blood  pounded  to  his  temples  as  he  found  it  to  be 
soft  and  warm  and  living;  a  feebly  wriggling  little 
life!  The  young  mother  had  brought  him  her  baby! 
She  sat  there  unafraid  and  trusting  while  he  held  it  in 
his  own  powerful  grasp.  To  the  lonely  boy  in  his 
man-imposed  isolation,  this  trustful  act  of  the  much 
scorned  "beastie"  was  as  balm  to  the  raw  wounds  of 
his  heart,  aggravated  by  the  many  weeks  of  his  grow- 


ing  bitterness  toward  the  world.  He  who  had 
thought  himself  friendless,  and  knew  himself  to  be  dis- 
owned by  his  fellow  man,  shut  up  by  him  in  a  place 
fit  only  for  this  little  creature  born  and  bred  in  dark- 
ness, had  gained  the  entire  trust  and  confidence  of  that 
which  man  called  vile. 

Presently  opening  his  fingers  he  let  the  little  mother 
take  her  baby  and  go  scampering  off  the  way  she  had 
come. 

For  a  while  he  sat  still,  musing  on  the  pleasurable 
significance  of  this  last  experience.  Then  he  got  up 
and  started  to  tramp  the  cell  as  he  had  not  had  the 
strength  to  do  for  many  days;  but  quickly  becoming 
dizzy  sat  down  again  upon  the  dirt  mound,  limply 
dropping  his  hands  to  his  sides.  To  his  surprise  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  slipped  into  a  hole,  and  at  that 
moment  he  felt  the  squirming  of  something  soft,  and 
then  a  sharp  pain.  Drawing  his  hand  out,  he  dis- 
covered his  forefinger  had  been  bitten,  and  putting  it 
to  his  lips  to  draw  the  place,  he  peered  down  and  dimly 
saw  the  rat  come  scurrying  up  to  his  knees  again,  en- 
tirely unconscious  of  what  she  had  just  done.  In  her 
eagerness  to  reach  the  food  which  she  had  previously 
been  unable  to  carry  away  because  of  her  proud  bur- 
den, she  had  attacked  the  obstacle  in  her  path,  not 
knowing  it  to  be  any  part  of  her  human  friend,  and 
doubtless  feeling  quite  triumphant  now  that  she  had 
overcome  it  so  easily. 

"You  funny  little  fellow!"  Richard  said  aloud,  for- 
getting the  pain  in  his  finger  at  her  greedy  presence, 
yet  marveling  at  the  queer  altered  tones  of  his  own 
voice,  unused  so  long.  "It's  strange  I've  never 
happpened  to  come  across  your  home  before,"  and  he 
held  out  the  bread  crumbs  toward  her,  when  suddenly 
a  startling  possibility  flashed  through  him.  She  took 
the  bread  and  scampered  away,  while  Richard,  forget- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    81 

ting  everything  save  the  new  hope  the  discovery  of 
her  hole  had  given  him,  began  to  dig  into  the  dirt 
mound  with  both  hands. 

Frantically  he  flung  the  damp  earth  away  until  he 
reached  the  stone-flagged  floor  underneath.  It  had 
never  before  occurred  to  him  in  his  search  for  the  loose 
stone  in  which  he  so  firmly  believed,  to  look  under  the 
mound.  But  now  as  he  blindly  felt  about  the  uneven 
flagging  he  reasoned  that  his  little  pet's  tunnel  doubt- 
less had  connection  with  that  tunnel  of  his  dreams, 
and  soon  his  fingers  had  reached  and  grasped  a  small 
hard  object,  and  he  knew  by  the  feel  of  it  that  it  must 
be  a  crude  knife  stuck  in  the  crevice  of  a  flag. 

Pressing  down  upon  this,  he  felt  the  stone  raise  it- 
self slightly — and  then  it  flew  suddenly  up  and  out! 
Thrown  off  his  balance  by  the  violent  exertion, 
Richard  plunged  upon  his  face  and  felt  his  arm  go 
down  into  the  opening!  Too  overcome  in  his  weak- 
ness to  do  otherwise,  he  lay  there,  his  arm  dangling 
into  unseen  freedom,  while  tears  of  exhaustion  coursed 
down  his  cheeks. 

Presently  he  lifted  his  face,  and  leaning  forward 
over  the  brink  of  the  hole  swung  his  arm  around  try- 
ing to  gauge  its  size  and  depth.  It  seemed  very  small. 
He  could  easily  touch  the  sides,  everywhere ;  and  with 
a  tightening  of  his  throat  he  suddenly  doubted  whether 
it  was  wide  enough  to  allow  for  his  shoulders.  If 
only  the  cell  were  lighter  so  that  he  could  see!  The 
wish  for  light  had  no  sooner  formed  in  his  mind,  how- 
ever, than  a  gratitude  for  the  darkness  came  to  coun- 
termand it;  for  he  realized  that  in  the  protection  of 
the  dark  alone  lay  his  ability  to  accomplish  an  escape. 

Slowly  he  stood  up,  and  then,  squatting,  rested  his 
hands  on  the  stones  on  either  side  of  the  opening  and 
lowered  himself  into  the  hole.  It  was  wide  enough 
for  his  shoulders ;  but  greatly  to  his  disappointment  he 


82     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

found  that  his  feet  almost  immediately  touched  bottom 
and  that  it  was  no  deeper  than  his  waist  line — appar- 
ently only  the  beginning  of  a  tunnel.  For  a  moment 
his  courage  deserted  him  at  this  disappointment.  His 
hopes  had  builded  so  high !  Quickly,  however,  he  was 
ashamed  that  he  should  have  been  so  ungrateful  even 
momentarily  for  this  chance  of  freedom. 

After  all  the  tunnel  was  started.  Also  he  had  found 
his  fellow  sufferer's  implement — the  knife — with 
which  he  had  accomplished  this  much  toward  gaining 
the  outer  world.  It  behooved  him  to  complete  the 
job,  that  was  all.  His  heart  suddenly  went  out  with 
understanding  sympathy  to  that  other  one  who  through 
death,  or  some  other  cause,  was  unable  to  benefit  by 
Richard's  work  as  Richard  was  even  now  about  to 
benefit  by  his.  If  only  he  could  share  the  good  luck 
with  him  or  some  one  else — some  of  those  other 
silenced  men  he  had  seen  in  the  mess  hall;  men  who 
were  victims  of  the  repression  of  all  natural  instincts, 
peons  of  brutality,  whom  the  State  was  crushing  and 
deforming.  He  longed  to  help  them.  Again  there 
came  over  him  the  resolution  to  obtain  revenge  for  his 
and  their  wrongs,  once  he  was  out  and  free  to  do  as 
he  chose.  Nothing  should  stop  him ! 

Climbing  from  the  hole  again  he  felt  for  the  knife. 
Confound  the  darkness!  It  delayed  him  so!  He 
could  not  find  it !  But — here  it  was !  He  grasped  its 
handle  firmly  as  it  stuck  up  in  the  loose  earth,  and 
then  groaned  with  sudden  apprehension  lest  he  lose 
it  again — by  breaking  it.  If  he  did  that,  his  oppor- 
tunity would  be  lost  also.  He  knew  he  could  never  dig 
with  his  bare  hands,  it  mattered  not  how  willing  they 
might  be.  Already  they  were  sore  and  bleeding,  the 
nails  torn  and  dragging  from  digging  as  much  as  he 
had.  A  panic  seized  him.  How  could  he  ensure  the 
knife's  safety  ?  At  the  thought  of  losing  the  use  of  it 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     83 

and  what  its  loss  would  mean  to  him  he  felt  possessed 
with  the  old  desire  to  scream — to  go  mad,  and  with 
all  his  might  he  had  to  fight  it  down  and  gain  reason- 
ing self  control. 

"I'm  getting  to  be  a  coward!"  he  exclaimed  in  dis- 
gust at  his  fear.  Then  clinching  his  teeth  he  muttered 
through  them:  "But  I  shall  win!  No  power  on  earth 
can  stop  me!"  and  dropping  into  the  hole  again  he 
crouched  down  on  his  heels  preparatory  to  digging 
where  the  other  man  had  left  off.  As  he  took  this 
position  he  swayed  slightly  and  put  one  hand  out  to 
steady  himself.  Much  to  his  amazement,  instead  of 
his  hand  touching  the  hole's  side  as  he  had  thought 
it  would,  it  went  out  into  a  black  vastness.  Cautiously 
he  remained  squatting  where  he  was,  his  back  braced; 
and  putting  his  other  hand  forward  tried  to  feel  about. 
It,  too,  extended  into  space.  Then  lifting  both  arms 
he  tried  to  gauge  the  void  in  front  of  him,  only  to  feel 
his  hands  suddenly  come  in  contact  with  the  hardened 
earth  above  them.  Then  he  understood. 

The  former  occupant  of  his  cell,  his  unwitting  part- 
ner in  the  plan  for  escape,  had  at  first  dug  straight 
down  until  he  gained  a  foot  hold,  after  which  he  had 
branched  out  on  a  level  with  the  bottom  of  the  hole, 
digging  head  first. 

With  an  effort  Richard  eagerly  doubled  himself  up 
into  a  smaller  crouch  and,  ducking,  stuck  his  head  into 
the  blackness  after  his  groping  hands.  At  this,  unbal- 
ancing himself  completely,  he  fell  forward  and  lay 
straight  down  upon  his  face.  This  meant  that  the 
tunnel  was  of  a  fairly  good  length,  and  he  began  to 
wriggle  and  worm  his  way  through  it.  His  heart 
beat  wildly  as  he  crawled  on,  half  suffocated  with 
hope!  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  have  crawled 
quite  a  distance,  there  was  so  little  air;  and  the  blood 
pounded  in  his  head  so  hard  that  he  would  often  have 


84    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

to  lie  quiet  trying  to  control  it  and  the  twitching  of  his 
weakened  limbs.  At  times  he  felt  he  would  die  like 
a  rat  in  a  trap  long  before  he  could  reach  the  end ;  for, 
unlike  that  little  creature,  man  is  not  so  well  able  to 
overcome  the  obstacles  of  darkness  and  suffocation. 
Yet  still  he  worked  his  way  forward,  hoping  each 
moment  to  see  daylight  ahead. 

After  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  hours  of  such  pain- 
ful progress,  he  came  to  something  hard  and  unyield- 
ing, and  with  a  sinking  of  his  courage  he  concluded 
that  he  had  simply  traversed  the  length  under  his  own 
cell  and  was  now  up  against  the  deep  sunk  foundation 
wall  of  the  prison.  Was  this  what  had  stopped  the 
other  man  in  his  hardly  fought  road  toward  freedom? 
Had  he  found  it  impossible  to  penetrate  this  barrier? 
Perhaps  he,  too,  would  have  to  turn  back  to  the  vile 
cell,  and  give  the  whole  plan  up.  But  at  the  thought 
of  this  his  anger  and  determination  blazed.  He  would 
not  give  up !  Bit  by  bit,  inch  by  inch,  if  it  took  him 
the  whole  ten  years  of  his  sentence,  he  would  pick  a 
way  through  that  wall!  Then  with  dampening  dis- 
couragement there  came  the  remembrance  of  the  fact 
that  there  was  still  another  wall!  He  had  seen  it 
through  the  air  holes  of  his  cell.  The  one  he  was  up 
against  now  belonged  to  the  building  itself  doubtless; 
but  the  other,  and  probably  stronger  one,  surrounded 
the  entire  prison.  In  the  face  of  such  great  obstacles 
should  he,  after  all,  try  for  freedom? 

He  knew  he  should,  even  before  he  had  asked  him- 
self the  question.  His  was  a  nature  that  once  driven 
into  revolt  quickly  gained  almost  superhuman  strength 
of  purpose,  and  under  no  circumstances  could  that  pur- 
pose be  thwarted.  But  though  he  determined  that  he 
would  succeed  in  spite  of  everything,  he  found  that  he 
was  now  too  exhausted  even  to  commence  the  further 
work  of  his  escape.  So  regretfully  working  his  way 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    85 

back  through  the  narrow  passage,  he  once  more  stood 
up  upon  the  floor  of  his  cell. 

He  had  barely  succeeded  in  replacing  the  stone  and 
packing  the  dirt  back  upon  it,  first  marking  it  with  a 
strip  torn  from  his  shirt,  when  he  heard  a  series  of  clicks 
at  his  sheet-iron  door,  and  looking  up  saw  that  it  had 
been  swung  back  and  that  the  figure  of  a  guard  stood 
within  his  cell  silhouetted  against  the  grayness  of  the 
corridor  beyond. 

"Guess  you've  rotted  long  enough,"  the  guard's 
voice  said  as  he  flashed  an  electric  flash-light;  and 
striding  forward  he  laid  his  hands  on  Richard's 
shoulders.  "I've  got  orders  to  remove  you  to  your 
former  cell."  Then  he  volunteered  with  a  patronizing 
air:  "Your  spirit  got  broke  quicker  than  some.  But 
no  monkey  business  with  me,  like  what  you  done  with 
the  guard  who  put  you  here.  Understand?"  And 
taking  the  dazed  boy  by  the  arm  he  led  him  into  the 
hall  and  slammed  the  door.  "Forward,  march!"  he 
commanded.  "Go  ahead!" 

At  the  guard's  command  Richard's  feet  mechani- 
cally carried  him  up  to  cell  No.  13,  on  the  upper  tier 
of  the  newer  part  of  the  prison.  He  was  too  dazed 
at  his  sudden  release  from  the  dark  dungeon,  conscious 
that  it  was  the  last  thing  in  the  world  that  he  had 
wished,  to  be  able  to  think ;  and  as  the  guard  lifted  the 
long  iron  bar  and  Richard  entered  his  first  cell  again, 
the  lightness  of  this  windowed  place,  with  its  grated 
door,  compared  with  that  other  in  which  he  had  been 
so  many  weeks,  seemed  to  his  eyes  a  dreadful  flood  of 
smiting  glare !  He  tried  to  look  up  into  the  tiny  tent 
of  blue,  black  barred,  that  he  could  see  from  the  win- 
dow, but  it  caused  him  acute  pain;  and  putting  his 
hands  over  his  smarting  eyes  he  staggered  back  and 
threw  himself  upon  his  rags  and  straw. 

So  this  was  the  end  of  his  dream  of   freedom! 


86     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

This  cell,  one  degree  removed  in  loathsomeness  from 
the  other!  Somehow  it  had  never  occurred  to  him 
that  he  would  be  released  from  the  dungeon  and  re- 
imprisoned  in  the  place  from  which  escape  was  im- 
possible. Why  had  they  brought  him  back?  Why 
had  he  not  resisted  the  guard?  Refused  to  leave  the 
dungeon?  Probably  if  he  had  shown  fight  he  would 
have  been  left  there.  But  now — . 

Then  the  guard's  explanatory  words  returned  to 
him,  and  he  exclaimed  aloud  in  his  husky  new  voice : 
"By  George,  if  they  think  that  my  spirit  is  broken,  I'll 
just  show  them!"  and  his  own  words  reacting  upon  his 
mind,  he  realized  he  had  hit  upon  an  idea  which  might, 
if  properly  carried  out,  give  him  another  chance.  It 
was  worth  trying  anyhow.  If  in  the  prison  system, 
under  which  he  was  now  compelled  to  live,  there  was 
no  reward  for  virtue,  but  quick  and  sure  punishment 
for  breaking  of  rules,  then  it  behooved  him  to  profit 
by  that  system  if  he  could.  He  was  not  the  first  pris- 
oner in  the  crime-breeding  place  to  so  decide.  Man 
shows  his  best  side  when  rewarded,  and  the  repression 
of  all  reward  or  commendation  has  helped  to  make 
prisons  the  busy  hives  they  are,  turning  out  apt  pupils 
fitted  for  a  cunning  life  of  crime.  Richard  had  served 
only  a  very  short  part  of  his  sentence,  but  that  lesson, 
bred  in  the  long  weeks  of  darkness,  had  been  uncon- 
sciously learned  by  him.  With  a  feeling  of  pride  in 
his  astuteness,  he  now  realized  it  had  not  been  learned 
in  vain.  Having  always  wanted  to  be  like  his  mother, 
he  had  early  in  life  persuaded  himself  that  he  had  in- 
herited her  nature  alone ;  and  so  now  he  did  not  in  the 
least  perceive  that  like  inheritance  of  his  father's  na- 
ture was  getting  the  better  of  him. 

Marshaling  every  ounce  of  his  fast  failing  strength 
Richard  rose  from  the  straw  on  which  he  had  thrown 
himself  and  went  toward  the  grated  door.  Peering 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    87 

through  it  he  could  see  the  guard  who  had  reinstated 
him  stop,  presumably  to  speak  to  a  prisoner  at  the  far 
end  of  the  corridor.  Raising  his  voice  Richard  began 
to  shout  hoarsely,  calling  out  maledictions  upon  the 
guard's  head  in  the  most  excited  manner  he  could 
muster. 

With  a  scowling  glare  of  surprise  the  guard  whirled 
around  and  strode  back  toward  the  noise. 

Richard,  encouraged  and  becoming  really  excited  at 
the  unaccustomed  sound  of  his  own  unrestrained  voice, 
let  his  excitement  leap  all  bounds;  and  screaming  and 
cursing  in  a  manner  he  would  not  have  believed  pos- 
sible, threw  himself  against  the  cell  door,  shaking  and 
pounding  it  with  his  fury-crazed  fists.  Deep  down  in 
his  inner  consciousness  he  knew  he  was  overstepping 
the  mark  he  himself  had  set  for  this  campaign  for  one 
more  chance  at  freedom;  that  it  was  probably  a  mis- 
take for  him  to  let  himself  loose  as  he  was  doing.  In- 
stead of  accomplishing  what  he  had  planned  that  it 
should  accomplish,  this  unrestrained  anger  and  excite- 
ment might  easily  turn  him  into  the  crazed  being 
that  he  had  often  feared  he  might  become.  Yet  fairly 
reveling  in  the  relief  of  his  pent-up  nervousness  and 
emotion,  he  did  not  care ;  and  as  the  guard  approached 
— then  ran  past  his  cell — his  manner  became  crazier 
than  ever. 

"Here,  damn  you,  choke  that  infernal  racket!"  the 
guard  commanded,  and  turning  the  crank  that  con- 
trolled the  corridor-long  bar  he  lifted  it  and  came  run- 
ning back  to  Richard's  cell. 

By  now  his  screams  had  brought  other  jailers  run- 
ning too.  Half  starved  white  faces,  with  maddened 
eyes,  appeared  at  the  grated  doors  all  up  and  down  the 
corridor  in  sympathetic  fear  for  a  foolhardy  mate 
with  temerity  enough  to  break  the  rules !  Strange  as 
it  may  seem,  there  exists  among  prisoners  a  vigorous 


88     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

feeling  of  loyalty,  a  genuine  passion  of  sympathy  and 
co-operation  that,  could  it  be  turned  to  account,  must 
necessarily  be  a  potent  force  for  good;  and  so  now 
every  convict  on  that  gallery  gave  instant  sympathy 
and  support  to  the  hysterical  boy  by  joining  in  the  up- 
roar. 

Richard's  screams  grew  louder  than  ever,  and  his 
words  no  longer  meant  much  to  his  own  excited  ears 
as,  unlocking  the  cell,  the  combined  body  of  guards 
made  a  rush  for  him. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  bug-house  perform- 
ance?" the  guard  he  had  reviled  asked,  while  the  other 
burly  men  pinned  his  arms  and  legs  in  brutal  grasps. 
"Don't  you  know  you'll  go  to  the  'rot-pit'  again  if  you 
keep  this  up?  Shut  your  fool  mouth!"  and  he  cuffed 
Richard  roughly  across  the  lips  until  they  ran  blood. 

With  the  man's  words  and  blow  Richard's  half-for- 
gotten determination,  which  had  been  lost  in  the  hazi- 
ness of  his  hysteria-clouded  brain,  stood  out  plainly 
once  more. 

"You  won't  put  me  back  there !  I'll  kill  you  before 
I  go  back  to  that  vile  place !  I'll  kill  you,  I  say ! " 

But  taking  Richard  from  the  cell  three  of  the  men 
began  beating  him ;  and  then  half  pushing,  half  drag- 
ging him  along  the  corridor,  shoved  him  down  the 
stairs  and  carried  him  through  the  hallways,  resound- 
ing with  his  mad  screams,  back  to  the  underground 
wing  of  the  death  cells.  Hurrying  him  through  this 
wing  they  reached  a  part  of  the  prison  he  had  not  seen 
before,  and  unlocking  a  heavy  door  threw  him  into  a 
totally  unlighted  dungeon. 

As  he  felt  its  atmosphere  and  the  wave  of  intense 
dry  heat  that  smote  him  in  the  face,  he  gasped  for 
breath;  then  suddenly  losing  his  self  control,  he  cried 
out  for  mercy,  begging  the  guards  not  to  put  him 
there.  His  fear  now  was  entirely  genuine;  but  so 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    89 

great  was  his  suffering  that  he  could  say  but  little, 
and  his  inarticulate  words  were  met  only  by  brutal 
laughter  from  the  guards  who  watched  him  as  he 
writhed  in  agony  upon  the  heated  floor.  The  place 
was  a  diabolical  conception  of  a  master  fiend,  for  walls 
and  floor  alike  were  made  hot  to  a  degree  only  short 
of  actual  burning,  and  to  the  boy's  sensitive  body, 
accustomed  to  the  cold  dampness  of  his  underground 
cell,  this  heat  was  torture.  Stepping  forward  with  an 
obscene  epithet,  another  guard  added  just  one  more 
degree  of  torture  by  throwing  a  can  of  red  pepper  in 
Richard's  face  and  hair. 

"Reckon  that  ought  to  sweat  his  spunk  out  a  little 
bit!"  he  volunteered,  while  still  another  called  out  to 
him :  "So  you  don't  like  the  hell  hole,  Sonny !  Well, 
you  better  get  used  to  it  this  side  of  judgment!" 

For  several  moments  more  Richard  was  left  to 
suffer,  his  fiendish  tormentors  seeming  to  enjoy  the 
sight.  Finally,  however,  the  jailer  in  direct  charge 
of  him,  feeling  that  he  had  probably  stood  as  much  as 
he  could,  dragged  him  from  the  place  and  carried  him 
further  down  the  hallway  to  another  cell,  in  which 
there  was  a  pool  of  foul-smelling  water.  Into  this, 
with  jocose  remarks  about  extinguishing  "hell's  fire", 
Richard  was  plunged  to  the  neck ;  and  then  picking  up 
a  hose  made  for  the  purpose,  they  played  it  down  his 
throat,  giving  him  the  sensation  of  drowning,  making 
him  gag  and  choke  and  finally  vomit  as  the  water  got 
down  into  his  intestines,  causing  him  violent  cramp- 
ing. 

The  water  in  which  he  stood  was  icy  cold,  and 
though  somewhat  reviving  in  its  immediate  effect 
upon  him,  nevertheless  chilled  him  to  the  marrow. 
The  State,  however,  always  thoughtful  and  pro- 
tective of  its  wards,  even  though  they  be  of  the 
"criminal  class,"  had  provided  that  "No  prisoner 


90    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

should  be  punished  by  death  save  those  sentenced  to 
hang  by  their  necks  until  they  were  dead;"  and  so 
Richard's  law-abiding  guards,  being  self-respecting 
citizens  of  this  free  land  of  ours,  did  not  overstep  the 
mark,  but  soon  dragged  Richard  from  this  torment, 
and  stripping  off  his  clothing  took  him  into  a  third 
cell.  The  law  here  too,  intervened  to  save  his  life; 
for  it  is  unlawful  to  "whip  a  man  on  his  bare  skin." 
Tying  him  to  a  whipping  post  and  covering  him  there- 
fore with  rags  soaked  in  brine  and  wet  with  alcohol, 
they  beat  him  mercilessly;  and  then,  replacing  his  wet 
and  filthy  clothing,  which  stuck  to  his  lacerated  back, 
they  took  him,  now  more  dead  than  alive,  to  another 
cell.  Here  they  adjusted  the  iron  head  cage  made  to 
keep  prisoners  from  assuming  any  possible  posture  of 
rest,  and  roughly  throwing  him  in,  slammed  the  door 
and  left  him. 


After  many  hours  Richard  roused  himself  and  tried 
to  peer  about  him.  Where  was  he?  Was  this  the 
cell  in  which  he  wished  to  be?  Had  the  deliberate 
endurance  of  all  this  physical  pain  served  his  purpose  ? 

For  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
to  crawl  forward  to  discover  whether  the  indistinct 
object  in  the  corner  was  a  dirt  mound,  though  he 
knew  that  would  tell  him;  but  lay  in  a  bruised  heap 
longing,  yet  not  daring,  to  know  his  whereabouts. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TIME  passed,  during  which  Richard,  sustained  by  the 
success  of  the  ruse  which  had  returned  him  to  his  tun- 
nel, was  many  times  taken  from  his  cell,  tormented, 
and  then  cast  back  again ;  but  now  the  last  bit  of  stone 
fell  into  his  hands  from  the  opening  which  he  had 
made  in  the  outer  prison  wall,  and  exclaiming  under 
his  breath  the  boy  lay  still  for  a  moment  in  the  narrow 
confines  of  the  passage,  a  wan  smile  lighting  up  his 
drawn  face. 

For  eight  months  he  had  been  digging  during  the 
nights  and  "rotting"  in  his  dungeon  during  the  day; 
now  the  work  was  completed,  both  walls  pierced,  and 
there  remained  only  the  final  stroke  that  would  break 
the  surface  of  the  ground  outside  and  set  him  free! 
He  dared  not  give  this  needed  stroke  for  many  hours 
to  come,  however,  for  night  was  in  travail  and  morn- 
ing being  born.  He  knew  this  in  spite  of  his  presence 
in  the  black  tunnel,  just  as  a  blind  person  knows  such 
things.  In  all  the  months  of  his  imprisonment  every 
outside  sound,  the  arrival  and  departure  of  daily 
trains,  the  sound  of  prison  gongs,  the  tramp-tramp  of 
guards  and  prisoners  alike,  had  come  to  mean  certain 
hours  to  him;  and  thus  by  sound  he  had  learned  to 
estimate  time  almost  exactly.  His  task  was  finished! 
Only  a  few  hours'  wait  now,  and  he  would  be  free ! 

Slowly  he  retraced  the  distance  of  the  tunnel,  work- 
ing his  way  carefully,  and  entered  his  prison  cell  again, 
once  more  hiding  the  entrance  by  means  of  the  loose 
dirt  mound. 

During  the  interminable  day  that  followed,  marked 
for  him  only  by  the  lighting  of  the  three  holes  in  his 
wall  and  three  meals  of  bread  and  water,  he  waged  a 
constant  battle  with  his  impatience.  A  sickness  of 

91 


92     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

apprehension  surged  over  him  again  and  again  at 
every  approach  of  the  guards,  and  at  such  times  he  felt 
an  almost  overwhelming  conviction  that  they  would 
discover  his  plot,  or  that  something  else  would  happen 
to  prevent  the  full  success  of  his  plans  for  escape. 
He  longed  for  the  coming  of  night,  and  the  last  des- 
perate try  for  freedom  that  it  would  bring,  irritably 
cursing  the  long-continued  hours  of  daylight  as  they 
dragged  by. 

His  waiting  was  at  an  end  at  last,  however,  for  the 
night  gong  had  sounded,  sweet  music  to  his  keenly 
pricked  ears,  and  he  knew  it  would  be  safe  to  go  ahead 
with  his  final  effort. 

Cautiously  worming  his  way  once  more  through  the 
tunnel,  he  reached  the  place  where  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  it  would  be  wise  to  break  through  to  the  surface 
of  the  earth.  All  day  long  his  heart  had  bounded  to 
the  thought  of  that  final  stroke;  but  suddenly  now, 
as  he  reached  the  spot,  a  panic  seized  him  and  he  timor- 
ously crouched  in  the  airless  hole,  shivering  with  dread 
and  apprehension.  He  remembered  with  the  fright  of 
a  lost  child  that  he  did  not  know  at  all  how  the  ground 
lay  outside,  nor  did  he  know  whether  the  prison 
guards  kept  watch.  Even  on  his  emergence  he  would 
be  unable  to  know  immediately  what  kind  of  a  world 
he  had  stepped  into,  whether  forest  or  plain.  Besides, 
if  he  succeeded,  his  status  would  be  that  of  an  escaped 
convict,  and  even  though  he  were  never  reapprehended, 
all  the  rest  of  his  life  there  would  hang  over  his  head 
the  sword  of  Damocles — the  inevitable  danger  of  reim- 
prisonment,  and  the  penalty  meted  out  to  those  who 
had  dared  defy  the  prison's  power.  He  knew  that  the 
punishment  for  breaking  jail  was  the  doubling  of  the 
sentence.  He  knew  that  the  law  would  take  any 
measures,  even  to  shooting  to  kill,  to  protect  Society 
against  his  escape.  His  panic  increased  at  these 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    93 

. .  i 

thoughts,  and  he  lay  trembling  with  fear  which 
wrought  instant  cowardice  in  him,  seeming  to  sap  all 
manhood  from  his  mal-nourished  body,  and  making 
him  feel  unable  to  face  so  problematic  a  future  as  he 
saw  must  be  his.  The  indomitable  will  so  character- 
istic of  him  seemed  to  have  turned  to  the  weakness 
of  milk  and  water,  and  a  loathing  of  himself  came  to 
increase  his  suffering. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  he  thought  bitterly,  the  place  had 
broken  his  spirit  as  the  guards  had  predicted.  Per- 
haps the  bars  had  left  their  black-striped  imprint  upon 
his  consciousness  for  all  time,  creating  a  force  of  fear 
in  him  that  was  destined  to  imprison  his  courage  and 
will.  Certainly  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  staying 
where  he  was  seemed  almost  preferable  to  the  risk  and 
aftermath  of  escape.  He  acknowledged  this  mental 
attitude  with  self -wonder.  Was  this  the  brave  spirit 
which  he  had  always  supposed  was  his? 

There  came  back  to  him  hatred  of  the  cowardice 
which  in  his  father  he  had  so  despised,  and  recalling 
the  personality  of  the  self-righteous  man  who  had  so 
bullied  and  harassed  his  childhood,  his  determination 
to  be  as  unlike  him  as  possible  blazed  in  his  soul  and 
spurred  his  lagging  strength.  As  was  characteristic, 
anger  filled  him  at  the  idea  that  he  could  be  like  one  he 
considered  so  despicable,  and  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  face  his  future  without  further  question.  To  be 
like  his  father,  whose  bad  side  alone  his  son  had  al- 
ways seen,  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  worst  possible  fate 
that  could  befall  him.  He  failed  to  see  that  many  other 
traits  of  this  forebear  had  become  so  pronounced  in 
him  during  his  bitter  months  of  imprisonment  that  his 
mother's  gentler  spirit  now  seldom,  if  ever,  wholly 
possessed  him. 

Squaring  his  jaw  Richard  took  the  knife  between  his 
two  hands  and  began  hewing  vigorously  at  the  dirt 


94    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

above  his  head.  It  showered  about  him  thinly  at  first, 
but  as  he  desperately  jabbed  the  knife  in  deeper  and 
deeper  an  avalanche  descended  upon  him.  The  earth's 
surface  had  collapsed,  its  support  weakened  by  his  tun- 
neling, and  he  looked  up  to  see  the  open  sky  above 
him.  There  was  no  moon,  and  angry  black  clouds 
hurried  after  each  other  across  the  void.  But  to  the 
boy's  eyes,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  a  shut-in  dark- 
ness that  can  seldom  be  equaled  out  of  doors,  even  on 
the  most  storm-ridden  night,  the  sky  seemed  almost 
aglow,  and  altogether  the  most  beautiful  sight  he  had 
ever  seen ! 

Crouching  in  the  end  of  the  tunnel,  his  heart  aflame 
with  renewed  hope  and  courage,  Richard  gazed  up- 
ward, listening  to  the  insistent  tramp  of  the  sentinels 
on  their  beat.  Judging  from  the  distant  muffled 
rhythm  of  their  tread,  he  concluded  that  they  were  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wall,  on  guard  between  it  and  the 
prison.  If  this  was  the  case,  and  the  thickness  of  the 
wall  lay  between  him  and  them,  he  was  safe. 

Just  as  he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  his 
lair  and  venture  into  the  open,  the  steps  grew  more 
distinct;  and  Richard,  peering  through  the  gloom, 
faintly  discerned  the  figures  of  two  men  saluting  each 
other  at  the  far  end  of  the  prison  wall.  Then  to  his 
dismay  he  saw  one  of  them  turn  and  come  tramping 
toward  him.  Breathlessly  he  crouched  down  and 
waited.  Nearer  came  the  echoing  tread,  within  a  few 
feet  of  where  he  was,  then  down  past  the  full  length 
of  the  wall.  Peering  out  he  saw  the  sentinel  reach  its 
corner,  where  a  third  figure  could  be  seen  in  vague 
outline — and  after  an  apparent  exchange  of  a  few 
words,  come  back  again,  only  to  pass  him  and  go  on 
as  before. 

So  the  prison  was  guarded  outside  its  outer  wall  on 
all  four  sides!  There  was  a  rule  too,  evidently,  that 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    95 

the  guards  must  meet  every  so  often.  In  view  of  this 
discovery  Richard  realized  that  never  for  a  moment 
could  he  be  rid  of  at  least  one  sentinel,  and  only  for 
a  very  few  minutes  at  a  time  out  of  sight  of  two!  If 
he  jumped  out  from  cover  and  tried  to  overcome  the 
sentinel  on  the  beat  nearest  him,  the  noise  of  their 
scuffle  might  reach  the  ears  of  the  others.  If  this 
happened,  even  though  Richard  overcame  him,  it  was 
not  likely  that  he  could  also  overcome  the  others  who 
would  of  course  run  to  their  fellow's  rescue.  Besides, 
an  alarm  would  be  given  at  once,  and  then  Richard 
could  never  escape !  He  crouched  and  thought,  while 
the  steady  pacing  both  inside  and  outside  the  wall 
continued. 

Finally  no  longer  able  to  stand  the  uncertainty  of 
what  he  should  do,  he  raised  his  head  well  above  the 
ground,  looked  quickly  about  him,  and  ducked  below 
again  just  before  the  sentinel  turned  to  tramp  past 
him  once  more.  In  this  quick  searching  glance  he  had 
dimly  made  out  the  woods  that  ran  along  back  of  the 
prison  wing  from  which  he  had  just  come.  The  trees 
that  loomed  up  in  a  dark  mass  must  be  within  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  of  him,  as  nearly  as  he  could  judge 
in  the  darkness,  and  a  clear  stretch  of  plain  lay  be- 
tween. The  sentinel's  march  from  corner  to  corner 
of  the  prison  wall  must  be  twice  that  distance,  Richard 
calculated.  But  even  taking  this  into  account,  did  he 
make  a  successful  dash  and  reach  the  woods  while  the 
nearest  sentinel's  back  was  turned,  his  flying  figure 
would  surely  be  seen  by  one  of  the  other  two,  and 
such  a  figure  seen  at  that  time  of  night,  and  in  such  a 
place,  would  necessarily  arouse  suspicion.  He  would 
be  fired  on  and  followed  at  once.  What  should  he  do  ? 

Yet  a  wild  dash  for  the  woods,  with  the  risk  of  be- 
ing seen  which  that  entailed,  seemed  the  only  possible 
way, — and  so,  half  raising  himself,  Richard  was  about 


96    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

to  start — when  changing  his  mind  he  dropped  out  of 
sight  down  into  the  hole  again,  and  waited. 

Back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  the  sentinel  paced, 
each  time  passing  quite  near  the  crouching  boy. 
Keenly  watching  the  guard  in  his  regular  march 
Richard  reckoned  the  distance  between  them,  and  con- 
cluded that  his  arms  could  doubtless  reach  and  trip 
the  man  as  he  passed.  Yet  he  hesitated  to  attack  him 
in  this  manner,  fearing  for  the  noise  of  his  fall. 

Again  he  looked  across  at  the  woods.  It  would  be 
impossible  to  gain  their  shelter  unseen  with  the  man  on 
his  present  beat.  To  risk  an  attack,  therefore,  seemed 
to  him  the  wisest  course  to  adopt. 

His  decision  was  made.  Lifting  his  arm  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  ground,  but  keeping  his  head  bowed, 
Richard  waited  while  the  sentinel  tramped  forward 
past  him  once  again,  saluted  his  fellow  watch-dog, 
turned,  and  began  his  return  beat,  his  back  now  turned 
to  Richard  and  the  hole. 

With  the  swift  and  sure  stroke  of  his  former  agility, 
born  of  a  life  in  the  open,  Richard's  arm  shot  out  and 
grasped  the  man's  legs. 

Crash ! ! !  The  fellow  went  upon  his  face ;  and 
Richard,  scrambling  from  the  tunnel  before  his  sur- 
prised victim  could  utter  a  sound,  dealt  him  such  a 
blow  on  the  back  of  his  head  that  he  lay  still. 

Calling  desperately  on  every  nerve  and  muscle  in 
his  body,  he  ran  swiftly  forward,  quickly  covering  the 
plain  and  gaining  the  woods  just  as  the  sentinel  at 
the  north  corner  came  into  sight. 

As  he  raced  Richard  vividly  pictured  to  himself  the 
scene  that,  from  the  sounds  plainly  heard,  he  knew  was 
even  now  being  enacted  behind  him;  for  when  the 
sentinel  on  the  north  beat  was  not  met  as  usual  by  his 
fellow  on  Richard's  beat,  he  had  investigated  and 
found  the  stunned  man  lying  face  down.  With  this 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    97 

second  man's  call  of  alarm  a  memory  of  sound  that 
acted  like  a  whip  lash  came  to  Richard,  and  he  recalled 
the  deep-throated,  doomed-voiced  baying  of  the  dogs 
he  had  seen  on  his  entrance  to  the  prison.  He  had 
occasionally  heard  them  from  his  prison  cell  as  they 
were  turned  loose  to  run  to  earth  some  human  crea- 
ture less  well  cared  for  than  themselves;  and  now 
Richard  felt  sure  that  before  the  passage  of  many 
moments  more  they  would  doubtless  be  turned  loose 
on  his  track. 

On  he  ran  stumblingly,  his  heart  pounding  from  the 
unwonted  exertion,  yet  his  life-long  knowledge  of  the 
woods  standing  him  in  good  stead.  Fortunately  there 
was  little  underbrush  and  the  trees  were  fairly  far 
apart,  so  he  made  good  progress.  Not  many  minutes 
had  elapsed  before  a  perfect  bedlam  of  noises  suc- 
ceeded the  sentinel's  first  cry  of  alarm,  and  Richard 
could  distinguish  the  excited  calls  of  men,  the  boom- 
boom  of  the  deeply  resounding  prison  bell,  and  the 
sharp  crack  of  pistol  shots,  accompanied  by  the  blood- 
thirsty yap-yap-yap  of  the  hounds  as  they  were  un- 
leashed upon  his  trail! 

He  had  soon  passed  through  the  woodland  and, 
reaching  a  river  that  flowed  just  beyond  it,  plunged  in 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  and  began  to  swim. 
In  the  dark  he  could  not  tell  in  which  direction  he  was 
going,  but  giving  himself  up  to  the  current  of  the 
stream  allowed  it  to  carry  him  unresisting,  striving 
only  to  keep  his  head  above  water,  and  fervently  pray- 
ing that  the  river  might  take  him  to  safety. 

He  had  not  drifted  far,  however,  before  he  began 
to  realize,  with  a  terrible  wave  of  horror,  that  the  ex- 
cited voices  were  drawing  rapidly  nearer  him.  Yet 
the  yap-yapping  of  the  dogs  came  from  afar  off  up  the 
stream. 

More  and  more  distinct  came  the  voices  of  the  men 


98     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

until  he  heard  them  just  above  the  bank  by  which  he 
was  being  carried.  The  running  of  feet  echoed  across 
the  water.  Lights  flashed ! 

Then  it  dawned  over  Richard  what  he  had  done. 
Not  knowing  the  lay  of  the  land,  and  being  totally 
unable  to  see  more  than  a  few  feet  ahead  of  him  in 
the  dark,  he  had  plunged  into  the  river  that  flowed 
directly  by  the  east  side  of  the  prison,  and  the  current 
was  carrying  him  back  the  whole  length  of  the  escape 
he  had  been  able  to  make  through  the  woods. 

Moie  waving  lights  and  high-pitched,  excited  voices 
came  from  the  shore  ahead  of  him,  and  he  rapidly  left 
the  yapping  of  the  dogs  far  behind.  He  was  directly 
between  the  two  groups  of  his  pursuers.  If  he  turned 
and  attempted  to  swim  back  up  the  river,  the  dogs 
would  discover  him.  If  he  continued  to  go  with  the 
current,  he  must  pass  directly  beside  the  prison  wall! 

God  in  heaven,  what  should  he  do!  The  locket 
about  his  neck  tightened  as  the  wet  cord  shrank.  He 
thought  of  his  little  mother  for  almost  the  first  time 
in  many  bitter  weeks,  and  his  spirit  subconsciously 
pleaded  with  hers  to  help  him  now ! 

Swiftly  he  drifted  on,  nearer,  ever  nearer  the  prison 
whose  lights,  as  he  could  now  see,  were  reflected  in  the 
water.  Black  figures  of  guards  sprang  up  out  of  the 
night  and  stood  forth  in  rugged  contour  against  the 
glow  of  their  own  lanterns,  as  they  hurried  from  the 
back  entrance  of  the  prison  and  joined  Richard's  other 
pursuers. 

Close  up  to  the  bank  the  current  swung  him ;  but  the 
men,  hurrying  on  toward  the  spot  where  the  dogs 
cried  out  their  warning  that  he  had  crossed  the  river, 
did  not  see  him.  Yet  at  the  very  moment  of  this  en- 
couragement his  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating,  and  he 
felt  his  legs  grow  limp  and  useless,  for  ringing  oat 
clear  and  strong  there  came  a  voice. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     99 

"Halt!"  it  rang  out  through  the  darkness,  and 
Richard  heard  a  bullet  sing  over  his  head. 

Ducking  just  below  the  surface  of  the  water  he  held 
his  breath  and  swam  on,  only  to  feel  something  knock 
against  his  side,  ensnaring  his  clothing,  and  before  he 
could  resist  drag  him  down.  He  struggled  free  and 
rose  to  the  surface,  only  to  encounter  a  log  the  under 
twigs  of  which  had  caught  in  his  shirt. 

With  a  feeling  of  utter  relief  he  grasped  this  and 
clung  to  it,  hiding  on  its  far  side  while  shots  fell  about 
him  in  a  fusillade,  and  he  heard  an  excited  exchange 
of  comments  between  the  lantern-bearing  men  upon  the 
bank. 

"It  ain't  him  I  tell  you!" 

"But  I  seen  a  man's  head." 

"Aw,  you  couldn't  have.  He  crossed  the  river  I  tell 
you,  and  the  dogs  are  scenting  him  there  right  now! 
It  was  a  log  you  seen,"  and  whipping  out  his  pistol  he 
fired  shot  after  shot  toward  the  drifting  object  behind 
which  Richard  hid. 

The  shots  whistled  and  sang  about  the  cowering  boy 
but  left  him  unscathed,  and  he  floated  on  protected  by 
the  accompanying  log. 

The  man  who  had  spoken  last  laughed.  "Don't 
you  see  they  are  just  logs  ?"  and  he  broke  his  revolver 
preparatory  to  refilling  its  chambers.  Then  pointing 
again,  he  said:  "See,  there's  a  drift  of  'em  coming 
down  from  Sawyer's  logging  camp.  Come  on!"  and 
followed  by  the  other  the  two  went  on  up  the  bank 
toward  the  spot  where  the  dogs  still  bayed. 

Richard  rapidly  drifted  with  the  current  down  past 
the  prison.  Excitement  over  his  escape  held  sway 
there,  and  as  he  passed  beside  the  gray  rock  wall  upon 
the  river  bank  he  could  see  and  hear  the  hunt  for  him 
growing  in  determination  and  vehemence. 

Safely  he  floated  by,  soon  leaving  the  prison  and  the 


100    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

hunting  men  far  behind ;  and  with  a  feeling  of  joy,  in 
spite  of  his  weary  weakness,  knew  that  he  was  now 
well  on  his  way  toward  freedom.  His  hands  and 
arms  had  become  numb  from  their  long  clinging  hold 
upon  the  log,  and  sometimes  he  felt  that  he  must  cast 
loose  from  it ;  yet  he  did  not  dare  do  so,  knowing  him- 
self to  be  too  weak  to  swim,  or  even  keep  himself 
above  water  in  the  swift  running  current.  Many  times 
during  the  journey  he  longed  to  climb  upon  the  log 
and  rest,  but  that  too  seemed  risky;  and  so  he  clung 
and  drifted,  using  all  the  force  of  will  he  possessed  in 
order  to  hold  on,  surrounded  as  he  was  now  by  many 
other  logs  that  had  come  swirling  down  in  the  spring 
flood  of  the  little  river. 

He  had  drifted  what  seemed  to  him  many  hours 
when  the  log,  reaching  a  sudden  sharp  turn  in  the 
stream,  jammed  against  the  bank,  catching  hard  and 
fast  to  the  overhanging  roots  and  twigs  that  were 
barely  submerged.  With  a  feeling  of  relief  at  being 
held  stationary,  even  for  a  few  moments,  Richard  labo- 
riously dragged  his  soaked  body  up  upon  the  log's 
wide  surface,  and  lying  face  down  clasped  his  arms 
about  it  and  lay  still. 

After  gaining  this  vantage  point  he  tried  to  make 
up  his  mind  to  push  off  from  the  shore  and  go  drifting 
on  into  the  future  that  awaited  him;  but  a  sense  of 
utter  exhaustion  overcame  him,  and  he  could  do 
naught  but  lie  and  wait  for  returning  strength.  All 
points  of  compass  had  been  erased  in  the  darkness, 
and  though  he  had  tramped  through  the  very  woods 
above  him  for  miles  along  the  margin  of  the  bay,  he 
did  not  know  this,  and  supposed  he  knew  nothing 
about  the  interior  waterway  in  which  he  now  found 
himself.  Vaguely  it  again  occurred  to  his  mind,  half 
paralyzed  from  weariness  and  cold,  that  he  must  push 
on;  but  his  lassitude  ever  growing  he  finally  gave  up, 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     101 

and  closing  his  eyes  fell  asleep,  while  the  log,  in  spite 
of  his  weight,  remained  safely  entangled,  held  by  the 
roots  above  the  surface  of  the  water  on  a  level  with  a 
muskrat  hole  in  the  bank. 

The  April  sun  stole  up  to  smile  night  shadows  away, 
and  there  reached  the  boy  the  pungent  smell  of  the 
earth,  through  which  springtime  buds  were  pushing. 
He  smiled  in  his  sleep  and  then,  stirring,  awoke. 

In  the  glare  of  the  early  morning,  pale  as  it  was,  he 
quickly  closed  his  eyes.  The  light  caused  him  agony. 
With  one  of  his  hands  he  bathed  his  eyes,  trying 
vainly  to  open  them  and  look  about.'  His  long 
imprisonment  in  the  dark  had  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  stand  the  unwonted  daylight,  so  he  stripped 
a  piece  of  cloth  from  his  shirt  and  tied  it  about  his 
head,  thus  shading  his  eyes  as  much  as  possible  from 
the  glare. 

"I  wonder  where  I  am?"  he  said  aloud  in  the  husky 
altered  voice  he  himself  scarcely  recognized  as  his 
own,  stiffly  raising  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  yet 
watching  from  beneath  his  bandage  to  see  that  he  did 
not  tilt  the  log. 

"You're  free,  I  should  say,  Sonny !  And  a  damned 
good  thing  from  the  looks  of  ye,"  a  deep  voice  said, 
making  him  jump  and  then  crouch  back  against  the 
log. 

"Now  don't  be  scared  of  me"  a  man  on  the  bank 
above  said.  "I  decorated  the  inside  of  such  yagers  my- 
self once,"  pointing  to  Richard's  stripes.  "I  wouldn't 
squeal  on  you — jest  feed  that  information  to  your- 
self." 

Squinting  up  Richard  saw  a  good-natured,  common 
face  grinning  sympathetically  down  at  him,  while  the 
man  continued  jocosely:  "Stripes  ain't  very  condu- 
cive to  spiritual  thought,  as  the  highbrows  remark ;  but 
say,  where  did  ye  pipe  it  from,  pal?" 


102     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

The  boy  looked  puzzled  at  this  jargon,  but  instinc- 
tively trusting  the  fellow's  candid  blue  eyes,  he  said 
hoarsely:  "From  State's  Prison,"  pointing  up  the 
river. 

"Hully  gee!"  the  man  exclaimed  with  unfeigned 
admiration.  "How'd  ye  do  it?" 

"Dug  my  way  out,"  Richard  replied. 

"Well,  you  be  some  weasel  and  duck,  believe  me,  if 
you  worked  your  flipper  down  this  spring  freshet!" 
and  he  looked  at  the  river  swirling  past.  "Where 
booked,  Sonny?" 

Again  Richard  looked  puzzled,  and  seeing  it  the  man 
translated  himself.  "Where  does  your  excursion 
ticket  get  punched? — Where  you  vamoosing — going? 
See?"' 

"I  don't  know,"  Richard  answered  vaguely,  trying 
to  look  about  him  at  the  woods  which  were  just  be- 
ginning to  show  signs  of  spring.  The  willows  along 
the  river  bank  were  bright  with  coming  leaf,  while 
further  away  on  a  hillside  Richard  could  see  the  rose- 
color  of  rhodora  bushes. 

"Then  you  better  pipe  it  along  o'  me,"  the  fellow 
said  cordially,  his  blue  eyes  smiling  into  Richard's 
half  shielded  ones.  "Here,  nibble  my  bait,  and  I'll 
cork  you  up,"  and  he  held  his  hairy  hand  down  over 
the  bank  toward  the  boy  on  the  marooned  log. 

Richard  took  his  hand  and  pulled  himself  upright, 
Only  to  have  the  log  break  loose  from  its  anchorage 
and,  rolling  over,  go  floating  out  into  midstream. 

But  the  man  had  caught  Richard's  hand  firmly  at 
the  first  grasp,  and  though  Richard  had  plunged  into 
the  river  at  the  log's  overturning,  he  was  now  vigor- 
ously dragged  up  the  bank  before  he  could  sink. 

"Right-o!"  his  rescuer  said,  as  Richard  scrambled 
up,  and  dropping  limply  at  the  man's  feet  hid  his 
smarting  eyes  from  the  light. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     103 

"Gizzard  pretty  floppy,  eh?"  and  the  man  put  his 
hand  on  Richard's  chest  to  feel  the  violent  exhausted 
beating  of  his  heart.  "I'm  some  doc,  I  am!"  he  said 
in  explanation.  "Was  chore  boy  in  Ellis  Island  hospi- 
tal before  I  began  snagging  the  wild  goose — bagging 
the  game,"  he  explained  himself — "stealing,  in  plain 
American.  See?"  and  he  chafed  the  boy's  cold 
hands,  pumping  his  arms  up  and  down.  Then  pulling 
a  flask  from  his  pocket  he  put  it  to  Richard's  lips. 
"Drink,"  he  commanded. 

Richard  took  a  deep  swallow  of  the  cheap  stuff  with 
a  shudder  and  lay  still  while  it  ran  through  his  chilled 
body  like  fire,  stopping  his  chattering  teeth.  "You 
can  ride  in  my  Ford,  all  right,  all  right,"  the  man  by 
his  side  continued;  "like  your  looks.  Some  gent!" 
and  he  deliberately  looked  Richard  over  in  appraise- 
ment, while  a  soft  light  came  into  his  eyes  and  he  said 
huskily:  "I  had  a  pal  like  you  once.  The  genuwine 
article,  all-wool,  a  yard  wide  and  unshrinkable.  The 
law  corpsed  him — damn  it!  He  warn't  to  blame 
neither.  The  cop  woulder  got  him  if  he  hadn'ter  got 
the  cop  that  night.  But  the  noose  for  his  after  that !" 
and  Richard's  companion's  face  turned  black  with 
anger  as  he  went  on: 

"He  was  raised  in  reformatories,  drat  'em,  like  me. 
He  never  had  a  square  deal  nohow,  gent  though  he 
looked  to  be  and  was,  for  he  knowed  who  his  pa  was, 
after  awhile — though  his  pa  never  knowed  him,  oh 
no!"  and  the  man's  face  sneered.  "He  tried  to  go 
straight — jes  like  me,  at  first.  But  what's  the  use? 
Jes  do  one  thing  that  happens  to  be  agin  the  law  when 
you're  a  fool  kid,  and  the  law  gets  your  goat  forever 
amen.  Him  and  me,  we  met  in  the  Reformatory — 
then  in  the  Ten' !  We  hit  it  off  together.  See  ? 
Him  that  was  so  well  appearing  took  to  shoplifting 
and  the  like.  Me,  I  took  to  the  dark  doorway  dirty 


104     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

work.  We'd  had  a  grand  edication  for  such  work, 
bein'  shut  up  since  we  was  kids  and  learnt  nothin' ! 
Besides,  nobody  wants  to  give  an  ex-convict  'honest 
labor,'  and  where  there  ain't  no  honest  labor,  Sonny, 
there's  always  plenty  else  to  make  a  living  by.  Folks 
is  queer,  believe  me!  They  will  help  a  beggar  to  git 
work  so  he  won't  have  to  be  a  beggar;  but  if  a  pincher 
tries  to  stop  stealing  and  go  straight,  industry  gives 
him  the  merry  go-by.  See? 

"Well,  one  night  me  and  my  pal  we  got  the  lu-lu 
bird,  and  thought  we  was  it.  We  borrowed  a  few 
eagles  from  the  state  bank  with  the  aid  of  a  friend, 
'Jimmy  Crowbar.'  But  Bill,  that  was  my  gentleman 
pal,  he  had  to  croak  the  cop  to  get  away,  and — and 
they  canned  him!" 

Richard's  companion  choked,  tears  showing  in  his 
blue  eyes.  "I  give  myself  up  to  save  him;  but  it 
warn't  no  use.  I  told  the  gospel,  but  they  wouldn't 
believe  me!  Since  gittin'  out,  therefore,  I'm  care- 
fuller,"  and  his  face  took  on  a  cunning  look,  "but  I 
gits  what  I  want  when  I  want  it,  jes  the  same.  See? 
So  pal,"  putting  his  hand  kindly  on  Richard's  shoul- 
der, "pipe  it  along  o'  me.  I  need  a  pal.  I'll  diwy 
fair,  honest  to  Gawd!  I  don't  look  like  no  gent,  but 
we  can  tandem  it,  you  bein'  the  show  horse,  wid  yer 
white  hair  and  fine  black  eyes,  and  I'll  do  the  pulling. 
See?" 

During  this  soliloquy  Richard  had  looked  up  at  the 
man,  his  face  becoming  more  and  more  puzzled;  and 
now  at  the  reference  to  his  white  hair  he  forgot  his 
smarting  eyes  in  wondering  if  the  fellow  was  crazy. 

"My  hair's  black,"  he  said  as  simply  as  a  child. 
And  putting  his  hand  to  his  head,  he  stroked  back 
the  wet  locks. 

This  time  it  was  the  man's  turn  to  look  puzzled, 
and  shaking  his  head  he  looked  at  Richard  and  said: 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     105 

"Me  for  the  bug  house  if  I'm  nutty;  but  your  cranium 
looks  white  to  me,  by  George!"  and  he  continued  to 
look  at  Richard  quizzically,  while  Richard  stared  back 
at  him. 

"Here,  see  for  yourself,"  the  man  said,  noticing 
Richard's  doubtful  expression;  and  he  handed  him  a 
small  mirror  from  his  pocket. 

Richard  took  the  mirror.  As  he  caught  sight  of 
his  own  unshaven  face  a  deadly  pallor  overspread  it. 
Trembling,  he  put  out  one  of  his  hands  and  took  hold 
of  the  other's  shoulder  to  steady  himself,  while  he 
gazed  on  into  the  little  mirror. 

His  hair,  which  eight  months  before  had  been  black, 
was  entirely  silvered.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot  and 
swollen  from  the  unaccustomed  light,  while  his  face 
was  that  of  a  middle-aged  man,  so  drawn  and  full  of 
lines  was  it  in  spite  of  its  covering  of  a  stubby  first 
beard. 

Could  it  be  possible,  he  wondered,  that  the  prison 
had  left  him  marked  for  life  like  this.  It  seemed 
incredible!  Yet  the  little  mirror  could  not  lie.  Per- 
haps it  was  his  eyes,  he  thought  hopefully.  They  hurt 
him  so  he  doubtless  was  not  seeing  aright;  and  shift- 
ing the  mirror,  he  gazed  at  the  reflection  of  his  unfa- 
miliar self  while  his  companion  watched  him,  feeling 
in  his  rough  kindliness  that  Richard  was  suffering 
and  that  it  was  no  time  for  any  of  his  slangy  remarks. 

Finally  Richard  spoke:  "How  o!4  do  you  think  I 
am?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  about  so  so  middling.  About  my  age,"  the 
man  answered.  "Why?" 

"Because  I'm  just  nineteen,"  Richard  answered. 
Then  angry  at  the  tragedy  of  old  age  being  thrust  upon 
him  during  the  time  of  youth,  he  exclaimed:  "The 
people  of  this  state  shall  suffer  for  this.  So  help  me 
God!"  and  throwing  himself  down  upon  the  ground, 


106    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

dry  sobs  shook  his  poor  abused  body,  once  so  full  of 
youthful  beauty  and  now  so  weakened  and  scarred 
by  the  injustice  of  cruel  imprisonment. 

At  this  show  of  the  boy's  suffering,  the  rough  man 
by  his  side  was  deeply  touched;  for  naturally  not  of 
criminal  instinct,  in  all  probability  he  would  not  have 
become  an  actual  criminal  had  his  early  environment 
been  all  that  it  should  have  been.  In  spite  of  his 
life  of  thieving,  deep  down  in  him  there  blossomed  a 
loyalty  that  had  made  him  a  trusted  friend,  even 
though  his  pal  had  been  a  crook  like  himself,  and 
now  he  readily  responded  to  the  uplifting  influence  of 
sympathy  for  his  fellow-man. 

"Sonny,"  he  said,  patting  Richard's  bowed  head, 
"I'm  damned  sorry."  Then  falling  back  into  his 
tough's  vernacular,  he  went  on:  "But  cut  out  the 
weeps,  kid.  As  pals,  you  and  me  will  can  'em!  I'll 
tell  you  my  plans,"  and  sitting  down  quite  near  the 
boy  he  talked  to  him  soothingly. 

Soon  Richard's  sobs  ceased,  and  interested  in  one 
whose  experience  had  been  enough  like  his  own  to 
form  a  bond  of  sympathy,  Richard  felt  springing  up 
in  him  a  real  friendship  for  this  man,  a  friendship 
that  a  few  months  before  would  have  been  utterly 
impossible  for  them  both. 

"Sonny,"  the  man  went  on,  "as  I  reemarked  before, 
ex-convicts  can't  git  honest  jobs  in  this  here  star- 
spangled  map  of  ours.  Citizens  are  free  and  equal — 
I  don't  think!  So  I'm  out  for  dishonest  jobs.  See? 
I  got  an  old  lady  and  two  twin  kids  at  home,  and 
they  ain't  peeped  nothing  about  my  past,  leastwise  the 
kids  ain't — and  you  never  seen  two  finer  bucks!"  smil- 
ing with  paternal  pride.  "The  old  gal's  thinker  works 
overtime,  too,  believing  that  I'm  heaving  straight  these 
days.  But  say,  I  can't  sail  straight,  I  tell  you;  for 
them  blessed  ones  needs  chink!  And  the  way  I'm 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     107 

a-making  chink  is  the  only  way  folks'll  let  me  make 
it,  now  that  I'm  an  ex-jailbird.  See?  There  wasn't 
no  such  thing  as  chink  coming  while  I  worked  five 
good  hard  years  up  there,"  pointing  up  the  river. 
"Yet  folks  say  there  ain't  no  slavery  these  days !  What 
do  you  call  it,  Sonny,  when  a  fellow's  made  to  work 
ten  hours  a  day  and  don't  git  nothin'  to  send  home, 
and  is  turned  out  at  the  end  of  his  sentence  unable  to 
git  a  bloomin'  thing  to  do?  Maybe  it  is  his  fault 
that  he  went  to  prison,  as  folks  say,  but  is  it  a  fair 
deal  to  take  a  bread  winner  away  from  his  folks, 
and  leave  them  to  starve? — for  starvin'  it  is,  pretty 
nigh — for  the  family  of  a  convict  can't  git  honest 
work  neither,  oftentimes." 

Richard  had  sat  listening  eagerly,  his  face  flushing 
and  paling  with  anger.  The  rough  fellow's  words 
echoed  so  exactly  his  own  bitterness  against  law  and 
its  injustice  that  he  had  said  nothing  during  the 
whole  story,  and  now  only  nodding  assent  he  motioned 
the  man  to  go  on  with  his  tale. 

"Well,  pal,  my  plan  is  this,"  the  fellow  continued. 
Then  breaking  off  he  interrupted  himself  by  saying: 
"But  look  here,  Sonny,  you'd  better  fairy-godmother 
them  Cinderellas  encasing  your  carcass — shed  your 
clothes,  in  plain  American,"  and  he  touched  Richard's 
wet  prison  clothes.  Then  grinning,  he  unbuttoned  the 
dark  suit  he  himself  had  on,  stepped  out  of  it  and 
handed  it  to  him,  saying:  "Here,  doll  yourself  up 
like  a  Christmas  tree." 

Richard  gasped  with  astonishment  at  the  enacting 
of  this  scene,  for  the  man  before  him,  though  he  had 
just  given  him  an  entire  suit  of  clothes,  stood  fully 
dressed  in  another.  Seeing  his  amazement,  the  fellow 
said  to  Richard:  "I'm  the  original  all  in  one  prize 
package,  Sonny.  Travels  with  me  trunk  on  me  back. 
It's  easier;  and  I  must  remark,  quite  often  it's  safer. 


108    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

In  my  biz  a  quick  change  of  looks  is  advantageous, 
believe  me!" 

Richard  dressed  himself  in  the  borrowed  suit,  while 
the  man,  to  get  rid  of  the  tell-tale  prison  stripes, 
wrapped  the  cast-off  clothes  around  a  big  stone  and 
threw  it  far  out  into  the  river,  where  it  at  once 
sunk  to  the  bottom.  Then  he  resumed  his  recital  where 
he  had  left  off. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  this  is  my  plan.  There's  a 
gold-lined  guy  in  the  burg  near  here  who  turned  out 
my  folks  into  the  cold,  cold  world  for  lack  of  rent 
while  I  was  up,"  jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder 
in  the  direction  of  the  far-away  prison.  "Molly,  she 
brought  them  kids  here  from  up  state  soon  after  they 
pipped — was  born,  you  know — so  as  to  be  near  me 
who  never  seed  'em,  being  as  I  was  sent  up  afore  their 
time.  Well  that  guy  he  woulder  forced  my  Molly 
to  starve,  or  worse;  but  she  was  on  the  square.  It's 
him  that's  got  chink  enough  to  make  a  corpse  glad, 
Sonny;  and  it's  them  kids  of  mine  that's  goin'  to  git  the 
eddication  and  chance  I  never  got  if  I  can  pull  off 
this  job.  See?  And  the  faithful  old  gal's  hoofs  are 
goin'  to  pitter  patter  along  Easy  Street,  too.  Gawd 
knows  she  deserves  it!" 

Then  with  eyes  flashing  he  leaned  nearer  Richard 
and  half  whispered:  "He  keeps  his  spondulics  in  his 
wigwam  while  he  flies  de  coop,  goes  bunny  hugging 
around  lecturing  to  churches,  converting  sinners.  See  ? 
Calls  himself  a  .E  evangelist  the  past  six  months,  though 
he  used  to  be  a  tight-wad  bank  president,"  and  the 
man  laughed.  "Now  he  tells  sinners  he  was  'called' 
by  the  Lord  to  this  present  job  because  of  his  son's 
serving  sentence  in  a  'place  made  by  the  wrath  of  the 
Almighty.'  I've  piped  him,  Sonny,  and  it's  good  as  a 
show  to  see  him  beggin'  sinners  to  repent  before  they 
become  like  his  son •" 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     109 

But  he  got  no  further,  for  grasping  the  man's  shoul- 
der Richard  broke  in  excitedly:  "What's  the  name 
of  the  town?  What's  his  name — the  man's?  Tell 
me  quick!" 

Richard's  companion  looked  at  the  boy's  flushed 
face.  "Swallow  your  cud — hold  your  potatoes — keep 
your  pants  on,"  he  soothed,  thinking  that  the  half- 
starved,  exhausted  boy  was  unduly  exciting  himself. 
"We're  near  the  'bu-ootiful  yap-burg  of  Dunham-on- 
the  Coast/  as  Mr.  Cook  would  say,  and  the  man's 
name " 

"It's  Deacon  Dennison,  isn't  it?"  Richard  burst 
out  with  a  square-chinned  finality. 

"Why  yes,  that's  his  handle,  all  right ;  but  how  did 
you  guzzle  the  fluke — peep  it — know  that?"  he  trans- 
lated himself  as  usual. 

"Never  mind  how  I  knew  it,"  Richard  answered 
bitterly.  "But  I  do  know,"  and  he  sat  picturing  to 
himself  the  scene  of  his  father's  enlarging  vocally 
upon  his,  Richard's,  lawless  ways,  doubtless  thus  work- 
ing himself  and  others  into  an  emotional  religious  fer- 
vor as  was  his  wont. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Richard  uttered  a 
profane  sentence  he  had  often  heard,  and  grinding  his 
teeth  together  said  to  his  companion : 

"Go  on  with  your  plan.  I'm  with  you,  whatever  it 
is." 

"Well,  Sonny,"  the  man  resumed,  "my  idee  is  this: 
That  guy's  tepee — wigwam — hang-out,  you  know,  is 
on  the  straight  and  narrow  path — main  road,  you 
know,  but  back  from  it — understand?  There  is  some 
spinach — forest  preserve — trees,  surrounding  it,  you 
know.  See?  Well,  you  deerfoots  yourself  into  them 
portals;  goes  up  the  zag — path,  you  know — and  asks 
to  cast  your  sky-blue  optics  on  the  deacon  because  of 
your  interest  in  your  soul's  salvation.  See?  I'm  told 


110     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

there's  a  regular  Y.  M.  C.  A.  movement  goin'  on  in 
that  way  with  the  deacon,  bein'  as  he  has  just  dis- 
owned his  son,  and  will  leave  spondulics  lying  around 
for  somebody  when  he  kicks  the  bucket.  Understand  ? 
The  youths  of  Dunham  is  gettin'  pretty  religious  these 
days,  and  we  might  just  as  well  be  in  the  game,  too. 
See  ?  Well,  while  he's  a-prayin'  over  you,  fer  he  does 
pray  over  everybody,  I  sneaks  in  and  bags  the 
swag " 

"But  man  alive,  I  can't  do  that !"  Richard  broke  in. 
"He'd  know  me!"  Then  at  the  man's  stare,  he  had 
to  explain:  "I — I  used  to  live  in  Dunham!" 

"Oh,"  the  burglar  said  thoughtfully.  "So  that's  it, 
is  it!  Well,  now,  that's  punk.  But  let's  see,"  and 
burying  his  unshaven  chin  in  his  hand,  he  sat  gazing 
at  the  boy  in  disappointment  at  this  frustration  of  his 
plan.  Richard,  too,  sat  looking  thoughtfully;  and 
then  a  bitter  smile  crossed  his  face.  Reaching  his  hand 
out  toward  the  man,  he  said : 

"Give  me  that  mirror  again." 

The  other  obeyed,  and  gazing  at  his  own  reflection 
long  and  steadily  Richard's  heart  rejoiced  at  his 
changed  look,  though  he  could  not  but  feel  alarmed 
at  the  smarting  of  his  eyes  and  their  blurred  vision. 

"I  don't  believe  he  would  ever  recognize  me  in  a 
thousand  years!"  he  exclaimed  aloud.  Then  he 
chuckled.  The  man's  daring  plan  appealed  to  him 
immensely.  If  it  could  be  carried  out  it  would  not 
only  enable  him  to  make  better  his  escape,  giving  him 
money  that  was  rightfully  his  through  his  mother,  but 
would  also  be  the  most  deliriously  humorous  moment 
of  his  life.  It  was  worth  the  risk.  Forgetting  his 
fatigue,  even  his  smarting  eyes,  Richard  jumped  up 
with  alacrity. 

"All  right,  partner,"  he  said,  looking  strangely  like 
his  father  in  his  thin-lipped  determination.  "It's  a 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     111 

go.  Shake  hands  on  it,"  and  he  took  the  man's  hand 
in  his.  "I'll  do  it!  Point  the  way,"  and  laughing 
rather  wildly  Richard  accepted  the  guidance  of  his 
companion  as  he  skulked  in  and  out  among  the  trees, 
leading  him  ever  nearer  Dunham  through  miles  of 
spring  woods,  yet  delaying  their  actual  entrance  into 
the  village  until  night  should  have  descended  again. 

"Say,  Sonny,"  the  man  said  in  the  course  of  their 
discussion  of  the  details  involved  in  the  carrying  out 
of  their  plans.  "How  does  your  laundry  ticket  read, 
anyhow?  What's  your  trade-mark — your  handle — 
your  name,  you  know?" 

"Denneth  Richardson,"  Richard  answered  without 
a  moment's  hesitation,  the  perverted  name  coming  to 
him  as  naturally  now  as  his  plan  for  crime.  "And 
yours  ?" 

"Sam  Simmons,"  the  other  answered  in  a  low 
voice.  "But  push  in  your  base  stop — can  your 
squeaks,"  placing  his  ringer  to  his  lips.  "We've  got  to 
lay  low  till  moon  time.  Here,  feed  the  pie-like-mother- 
used-to-make  to  your  physiognomy,"  and  he  handed 
the  boy  food  from  his  pocket,  watching  him  almost 
fondly  as  he  took  it  and,  lying  flat  in  the  woods,  ate 
absent-mindedly  while  he  gazed  up  into  the  restful 
green  of  spruces,  through  which  sparse  patches  of 
subdued  light  filtered. 

A  blue  jay  flashed  by  in  greeting.  Chickadees  flew 
down  about  him  in  friendliness;  and  perched  high  up 
on  a  spruce  bough  an  olive-green  kinglet  with  golden 
crown  aglow  sat  and  watched  him.  It  was  spring. 
He  was  free. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

UP  THE  familiar  pathway  to  the  lamp-lighted  white 
house  went  Denneth  Richardson,  Sam  Simmons  close 
upon  his  heels.  The  shades  at  the  windows  were  up, 
and  as  they  neared  the  house  they  could  see  Deacon 
Dennison's  angular  figure  seated  idly  at  his  library 
table. 

A  pang  went  through  the  boy,  he  knew  not  whether 
of  anger  or  of  longing,  both  feelings  were  so  inter- 
mingled; and  for  a  moment  he  imagined  he  saw  his 
mother's  frail  gray-clad  figure  in  her  accustomed  place 
by  his  father's  side.  Then  under  the  influence  of  this 
hallucination  of  her  who  stood  for  all  that  was  best 
in  his  nature,  Denneth  felt  the  thing  he  was  about  to 
do  would  be  wholly  impossible.  Half  turning,  he 
started  to  speak  to  his  companion,  to  tell  him  he  simply 
could  not  commit  the  crime  they  had  planned;  but 
seeing  a  movement  in  the  room  he  stopped,  for  at  this 
moment  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  evidently  reached 
the  deacon's  ears,  and  knowing  himself  to  have  an 
audience  this  pious  man  picked  up  his  Bible  and  with 
a  spectacular  gesture  of  humility  began  to  read. 

At  this  well-known  attitude  of  hypocrisy,  bitter 
loathing  for  his  father  surged  over  Denneth,  crowding 
out  his  more  kindly  feelings,  and  squaring  his  jaw  he 
walked  up  the  steps  and  deliberately  rang  the  bell. 

"Around  to  the  left,"  he  whispered  to  the  man  be- 
low him  in  the  dark.  "Second  window — there's  no 
lock  on  it.  Go  through  that  room,  turn  to  your  right, 
and  go  into  another.  The  safe  is  there.  By  the  time 
you've  worked  the  combination  as  I've  told  you,  I'll 
have  the  old  boy  fixed  so  you  can  make  a  get-a-way. 
Don't  you  worry !  Even  if  I  am  green  at  this  game. 

112 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    113 

I  know  how  I  can  manage  him.  Give  me  a  whistle — 
the  screech-owl  hoot,  you  know — when  you  are 
through  with  your  part."  Then  as  the  door  was 
opened  by  the  deacon,  Denneth  stepped  forward  and 
disappeared  into  the  house  from  the  other's  sight. 

The  hall  was  dimly  lighted,  and  as  his  eyes  met 
those  of  his  father  he  could  not  see  the  slightest  sign 
of  recognition.  Taking  courage  at  this,  he  spoke  in 
the  voice  that  the  prison  had  made  so  unrecognizably 
husky. 

"Brother  Dennison,"  he  said,  rolling  his  swollen 
eyes  piously,  "I  have  come  to  talk  to  you  about  my 
soul's  salvation." 

The  deacon  beamed.  "Come  in,  my  son,  come  in !" 
he  said  hospitably,  entirely  unsuspecting  the  identity 
of  his  visitor,  and  leading  the  way  into  the  grim,  fa- 
miliar library.  "  'Ask  and  ye  shall  be  forgiven.  Seek 
and  ye  shall  find.  Knock  and  the  door  shall  be  opened 
unto  you.'  You  are  not  the  first  man  to  come  to  me 
thus." 

Denneth  bit  his  lips  at  these  words,  but  controlling 
the  sinister  amusement  that  was  bubbling  up  in  him, 
took  the  chair  his  all-unconscious  father  offered  him, 
and  watched  him  as  he  fussed  about  looking  for  his 
glasses.  Presently  he  picked  up  his  Bible  and  seated 
himself  within  the  circle  of  light  shed  by  the  green 
reading-lamp,  preparatory  to  a  long  and  interesting 
wrestle  with  this  sinner's  soul. 

Deacon  Dennison  was  in  his  element.  Though  he 
possessed  a  nature  at  once  cold  and  shrewd  and  cruel, 
there  dwelt  also  in  him  an  emotionalism,  a  weak  sen- 
timentality, that  is  sometimes  found  in  otherwise  hard 
natures,  and  which  had  been,  in  the  deacon's  case,  the 
cause  of  certain  amorous  escapades  during  his  youth, 
the  while  he  scrupulously  observed  the  forms  of  re- 
ligion without  any  approximation  to  its  true  spirit. 


114    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Sanctimoniousness  cloaked  his  sins,  for  which  he  ex- 
perienced neither  remorse  nor  indeed  even  an  appre- 
ciation of  their  gravity.  Now,  in  his  middle  age,  his 
over-developed  ego  had  made  him  actually  believe  in 
the  spirituality  of  that  emotionalism,  and  he  consid- 
ered this  characteristic  which  was  his  weakness  to  be 
his  strength.  He  had  reached  a  stage  further  along 
than  hypocrisy;  for  he  believed  firmly  in  his  own  per- 
fection and  power,  perverted  though  it  was.  Persons 
of  advanced  years  sometimes  persuade  themselves  to 
regard  as  spiritual  that  which  in  their  youth  was  the 
result  of  purely  physical  impulse,  though  such  natures 
know  not  the  true  meaning  of  spirituality.  Physical 
existence  for  man,  in  itself  purely  animal,  is  hal- 
lowed by  the  indwelling  of  his  spiritual  existence, 
though  the  physical  and  spiritual  natures  remain  dis- 
tinct; but  that  fact  is  frequently  lost  sight  of  by  na- 
tures like  the  deacon's;  and  so,  though  his  life  had 
been  guided  by  anything  but  a  spiritual  point  of  view, 
he  now  looked  upon  his  past  as  having  been  all  that 
it  should  have  been,  and  believed  himself  called  to 
guide  others. 

"Since  my  very  babyhood  God  has  been  my  guide," 
he  said  benignly  to  the  boy  seated  in  front  of  him, 
"and  this  approaching  age  which  you  witness  is  my 
'reward  of  virtue,'  "  touching  his  gray  beard. 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Denneth's  tongue  to  put  forth 
an  evolution-argument  which  years  before  he  and  his 
mother  had  often  discussed.  That  is,  that  a  long  life 
is  given  for  discipline  and  the  development  of  certain 
powers  and  virtues,  and  not  for  reward.  He  believed 
that  souls  were  divine  and  immortal ;  that  though  tem- 
porarily tabernacled  in  man,  the  purpose  of  their 
sojourn  in  human  beings  on  this  earth  must  be  that 
they  may  learn  such  lessons  and  gain  such  experience 
as  in  some  inscrutable  way  may  fit  them  to  attain  a 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     115 

higher  existence.  In  the  light  of  this  belief,  there- 
fore, the  spirit,  which  mankind  everywhere  feels  in- 
stinctively to  be  immortal,  has  but  a  very  temporary 
abiding  place  here,  and  is  continually  evoluting  for- 
ward in  the  everlasting  quest  of  eventual  perfection 
and  fitness  to  dwell  with  God.  But  the  misery  of  the 
past  months  had  blunted  the  vitality  and  influence  of 
his  faith;  and  so  deliberately  putting  all  this  aside  he 
now  held  his  peace  and  said : 

"Yes,  Deacon,  you  have  been  blessed  with  a  long 
life.  But  what  can  I  do  to  be  more  like  you.  What 
can  I  do  to  be  saved?" 

The  deacon's  thin  lips  smiled.  If  Denneth  had  been 
an  eye  witness  to  recent  scenes  of  the  deacon's  evange- 
listic conversions — if  he  had  repeated  verbatim  the 
supplicating  penitents'  every  word,  he  could  not  have 
acted  more  to  the  liking  of  the  deacon  than  he  did 
now. 

"You  have  the  right  spirit,  my  son,"  he  commended 
warmly;  then  rolling  his  eyes  upward,  he  continued: 
"My  life,  spent  in  prayer  and  fasting,  spent  in  the 
fear  of  a  great  and  jealous  God,  has  been  a  long  and 
happy  one,  save  for  one  thing "  He  paused  im- 
pressively. With  a  mental  sneer,  Denneth  knew  ex- 
actly what  was  coming,  and  was  not  disappointed 
when  his  father  went  on,  his  voice  breaking  dramati- 
cally. 

"Apple  of  my  eye,  bone  of  my  bone,  flesh  of  my 
flesh,  the  son  of  my  bosom  has  heaped  suffering  and 
anguish  upon  my  gray  hairs!  Though  I  gave  him 
freely  of  my  greater  knowledge,  though  I  wrestled 
with  his  wayward  soul,  hoping  to  show  him  the  Light 
that  has  always  been  mine,  he  has  bowed  my  head 
in  sorrow,  disgraced  me  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
Born  with  me  to  guide  him,  fostered  and  fed  upon 
the  Scriptures,  he  turned  from  the  straight  and  nar- 


116    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

row  path,  turned  from  my  love  and  the  fear  of  God, 
to  deliberately  walk  in  the  paths  of  iniquity!" 

Then  in  a  voice  full  of  well-modulated  heart-breaks, 
practised  until,  from  an  emotion-producing  standpoint, 
at  least,  they  were  perfect,  Deacon  Dennison  told  the 
boy  before  him  a  melodramatic  story  of  his  own  son's 
waywardness  which,  he  said,  had  eventually  led  to 
crime,  and  thence  to  prison;  in  which  place  he  was 
even  now  suffering  the  righteous  wrath  that  his  Al- 
mighty Father  saw  fit  to  visit  upon  such  as  he! 

Throughout  this  recitation  Denneth  sat  motionless, 
his  jaw  squared,  his  fingers  tensed.  Before  his  im- 
prisonment, when  his  mother's  nature  in  him  had  held 
sway,  he  could  not  have  restrained  himself  thus  hypo- 
critically. During  his  solitary  months  spent  in  the 
crime  factory,  the  breeding  spot  for  cunning  with  its 
accompaniment  of  vindictiveness,  he  had  learned  the 
policy  of  waiting  in  order  to  accomplish  his  revenge. 
And  so  now  he  listened  silently,  giving  no  sign  of 
the  battle  that  was  raging  within  him,  nor  that  his 
keen  ears  were  pricked  for  the  signal  of  Sam  Simmons, 
who  was  noiselessly  robbing  the  house. 

Finally  Deacon  Dennison  suggested,  as  was  his  usual 
program,  that  they  kneel  in  holy  prayer.  Denneth 
grimly  knelt  down,  and  as  he  did  so  the  hallucination 
of  his  mother's  actual  presence  in  the  room  again  pos- 
sessed him,  and  a  surge  of  memory  came  over  him, 
weakening  his  criminal  resolve.  Yet  he  put  aside  his 
mother's  pleading  face  and,  bending  his  head  in  mock 
humility,  listened  while  the  deacon  prayed : 

"Oh,  Father  of  all,  Jehovah,"  he  supplicated  in  his 
best  stage  voice,  "we  are  unclean.  We  are  full  of 
iniquity.  There  is  no  good  in  us.  We  are  as  the 
dust  beneath  Thy  feet,  not  fit  for  Thee  to  tread  upon. 
Oh,  Heavenly  Father,  there  has  come  unto  me  an  iniq- 
uitous stranger  from  out  of  the  night,  a  man  who 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    117 

has  walked  with  sin  upon  the  highroad.  Teach  him 
that  there  is  a  fire  burning  and  crackling  beneath  his 
very  feet!  Teach  him  that  Hell's  gate  is  wide  open! 
Let  his  heart  be  humbled  before  Thee.  Chastise  him 
that  he  may  fully  see  the  error  of  his  ways.  Show 
him  Thy  mighty  wrath  that  he  may  fear  to  stand 
against  Thee — Father  of  all.  Jehovah " 

But  soft  and  low  the  hoot-owl  whistle  broke  into 
this  prayer,  the  greater  part  of  which  Denneth  had 
heard  daily  during  his  life  at  home,  and  with  a  cat- 
like spring  the  boy  was  upon  the  deacon  and  had 
quickly  pulled  him  from  his  knees. 

Taken  completely  by  surprise  the  deacon  did  not 
so  much  as  gasp  as  the  boy  stretched  him  out  and, 
stuffing  his  handkerchief  into  his  mouth,  sat  on  his 
chest  while  he  bound  him  hand  and  foot.  Had  Den- 
neth allowed  his  better  self  to  come  uppermost  even 
for  a  moment,  he  would  have  felt  alarmed  at  his  own 
gloating  over  the  accomplishment  of  a  physical  feat 
directed  against  a  feebler  fellow-creature,  recogniz- 
ing in  it  the  prophecy  of  a  blameful  future.  But 
his  prison-bred  bitterness  was  too  fully  in  possession 
of  him  now  to  allow  him  to  realize  how  far  he  had 
dropped  from  his  former  freedom  of  right  thought  and 
brave  impulse.  Nor  did  he  know  that  he  was  acting 
exactly  as  his  father  would  have  acted  under  like 
provocation.  So  it  is  always  with  us.  We  seldom 
see  in  ourselves  those  traits  which  we  despise  in  others. 

"Keep  still!"  his  captor  commanded,  as  the  man 
upon  the  floor  vainly  tried  to  move.  "I'm  not  going 
to  hurt  you,"  and  going  to  the  window  he  opened  it 
and  said  something  in  a  low  voice  to  Sam  Simmons. 

There  was  a  whispered  answer,  and  then  Denneth 
banged  the  window  shut  and  went  back  to  the  pros- 
trate deacon,  whose  eyes  were  rolling  wildly  from 


118     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

side  to  side,  the  weak  tears  splashing  from  them  upon 
the  floor. 

Drawing  up  a  chair,  his  son  seated  himself  non- 
chalantly. Then  he  cleared  his  throat  and  spoke : 

"John  Dennison,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  more  like  his 
former  voice  than  he  had  thus  far  been  able  to  mus- 
ter, "you  don't  recognize  me  since  the  transformation 
in  me  made  by  you  in  the  name  of  religion,  law,  and 
justice;  but  I  am  that  wayward  son  of  yours  that 
you've  been  talking  so  much  about  lately!"  And  in 
seeming  carelessness  he  deliberately  drew  out  the 
locket  that  he  always  wore  about  his  neck,  fingering 
it  in  perfect  confidence  of  the  assurance  it  would  give 
as  to  his  identity. 

The  deacon  started  in  spite  of  his  bound  state, 
whimpering  like  a  frightened  animal  in  his  half- 
choked  discomfort;  but  with  a  cruelty  and  coldness 
that  he  would  have  hardly  believed  himself  capable  of, 
Denneth  continued: 

"For  almost  twenty  years  you  bullied  me  and  made 
my  life — and  hers — "  swallowing  hard  at  reference 
to  his  mother,  "unbearable!  When  my  mother  mar- 
ried, she  had  a  little  money.  She  told  me  so,  so  none 
of  your  denials!"  as  his  father  feebly  shook  his  head. 
"I  know  the  exact  amount,  and  that  you  would  never 
let  her  spend  it.  Well,  I've  come  for  that  money. 
In  fact  it  is  already  well  on  the  road  to  my  pockets," 
and  he  glanced  toward  the  window,  smiling  bitterly. 
Sam  Simmons's  footsteps  could  be  heard  softly  re- 
ceding. 

The  terrorized  deacon  tried  to  mumble  something, 
but  the  gag  in  his  mouth  prevented  articulation,  and 
his  son  went  on  as  the  other  lay  trembling  violently, 
whining  out  handkerchief-choked  but  plainly  suppli- 
cating noises : 

"Right  now  as  I  talk  to  you,  my  partner,  another 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     119 

'jail-bird,'  is  making  away  with  your  'chink/  as  he 
calls  it.  He  helped  himself  to  the  contents  of  your 
safe.  I  told  him  the  combination.  That  'chink' 
will  probably  just  about  cover  the  amount  you  owe  me 
— that  is,  as  to  money.  Perhaps  a  little  more,  per- 
haps a  little  less." 

Then  more  bitterly:  "But  as  to  what  you  owe  me 
for  your  bullying,  your  unfairness  to  me — and  her — 
since  my  babyhood;  as  to  what  price  you  should  pay 
for  bringing  me  into  the  world  through  no  desire  for 
a  son,  but  in  a  moment  of  satisfying  your  own  lower 
nature — then  robbing  me  of  every  chance  for  devel- 
opment of  whatever  good  there  may  be  in  me — well, 
there  can  be  no  adequate  price  paid.  When  a  par- 
ent brings  a  child  into  the  world  under  any  but  the  most 
sacred  of  impulses  and  paternal  desire,  and  then,  hav- 
ing begotten  the  child  in  carnal  wantonness  and  not 
in  the  noble  sacredness  of  God's  true  meaning  of  the 
marriage  relation,  when  he  ruins  that  child's  chances 
for  happiness,  whether  intentionally  or  unintentionally, 
there  can  be  no  human  punishment  that  is  adequate 
for  either  crime!" 

Pausing  a  moment  he  looked  scornfully  at  the 
blanched-cheeked  man,  then  resumed :  "There  is  one 
thing  that  I  can  do,  however — and  will!  You  and 
this  state  shall  pay  me,  at  least  in  part,  for  my  suffer- 
ing, so  help  me  God!" 

Then  getting  up  he  said:  "And  now  I  will  go. 
Think  over  what  I  have  said — it  may  help  you,"  and 
at  this  indulgence  in  his  characteristic  manner  of 
preaching,  the  boy's  face  took  on  the  exact  look  of  the 
opinionated,  domineering  one  before  him.  "If  you 
ever  tell  who  it  was  that  robbed  you,  or  in  any  way 
interfere  with  my  life  again,  I  shall  kill  you  as  cold- 
bloodedly as — as — you  have  killed  the  good  in  me!" 


120     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

And  striding  from  the  room  Denneth  went  out  into 
the  night  where  the  other  robber  awaited  him. 


Two  years  passed,  and  Denneth  Richardson,  in  con- 
nivance with  Sam  Simmons  and  his  jimmy-crow-bar, 
had  made  a  marked  success,  first  in  the  city  of  Green- 
port  and  its  environs,  to  which  place  they  had  gone 
after  the  robbery  of  Deacon  Dennison,  and  later  in 
Hampton. 

Nobody  had  suspected  that  the  well-groomed, 
shrewd-eyed  young  stranger  with  his  slightly  bearded 
face  and  prematurely  silvered  hair  was  other  than  the 
successful  capitalist  he  appeared  to  be;  for  good  food 
and  freedom  had  quickly  aided  youth  in  restoring  at 
least  a  semblance  of  the  boy's  old-time  vigor ;  and  now, 
seated  in  the  easy  chair  in  his  own  comfortable  rooms, 
Denneth  was  going  over  with  Sam  Simmons  a  plot 
for  a  burglary  to  take  place  that  very  night  at 
Thornley-by-the-Sea,  a  fashionable  colony  on  the  shore 
a  few  miles  out  from  the  city.  A  big  dance  had  been 
planned  by  the  summer  contingent  which,  in  the  opin- 
ion of  these  two  expert  men,  would  give  them  an 
opportunity  the  like  of  which  they  had  already  several 
times  availed  themselves  of.  Sam  had  come  for  his 
final  report  before  he  and  Denneth  should  go  out  by 
different  routes  to  join  in  their  well-conceived  venture. 

New  clothes  and  an  office  and  pretense  of  honest 
work,  with  his  odd  hours  spent  in  the  woods  sur- 
rounding his  new  home,  had  wrought  even  a  greater 
change  in  Denneth  than  improved  health;  and  though 
he  was  still  far  from  the  steel-muscled  young  woodgod 
of  former  years,  to  those  who  had  not  known  him 
then  he  bore  little,  if  any,  outward  sign  of  the  prison's 
degrading  effect  upon  him.  With  his  criminal  suc- 
cess had  come  a  physical  well  being  and  a  feeling  of 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    121 

security  that  gave  him  the  aplomb  of  a  man  of  the 
world.  Yet  there  was  one  little  worry  ever  growing 
in  the  back  of  his  mind.  Often  he  felt  alarmed  about 
his  eyes,  one  of  them  more  especially.  But  fearing 
the  probing  questions  of  an  oculist,  he  said  little  and 
did  less  about  it.  Nevertheless,  as  time  went  on,  he 
had  more  and  more  frequent  pain,  followed  by  days 
of  rather  awkward  dimness  in  that  member.  He  dared 
not  dwell  upon  its  possible  meaning.  Finally,  how- 
ever, he  found  himself  obliged  to  relieve  the  strain 
upon  them,  and  entering  a  shop  was  soon  fitted  with 
a  pair  of  glasses  that  at  least  gave  him  temporary 
relief. 

From  the  robbing  of  the  people  of  his  state,  to 
which  he  had  consecrated  himself  on  the  vengeful  day 
of  his  escape  from  the  penitentiary,  he  had  quickly 
persuaded  himself  that  all  robberies  everywhere  were 
in  perfect  keeping  with  his  determination  to  get  even 
with  the  world ;  and  so  very  soon  he  had  drifted  from 
Greenport  to  Hampton,  setting  up  his  Lares  and 
Penates  in  well-appointed  rooms  there  and  no  longer 
confining  his  robberies  to  the  state  which  had  injured 
him. 

The  exhilaration  and  excitement  of  the  burglar's 
game  now  appealed  to  Denneth  with  irresistible  fasci- 
nation ;  and  though  when  in  the  woods  among  his  be- 
loved flowers  and  creatures  of  the  wild  he  often  felt 
his  mother's  spirit  struggling  for  rebirth  in  him,  he 
always  put  her  image  from  his  mind.  He  no  longer 
wanted  to  lead  any  life  save  that  of  lawless  adventure. 
The  prison  and  what  he  had  learned  there  had  wrought 
in  him  a  spirit  of  getting  something  for  nothing. 

That  spirit  is  the  same  spirit  which  makes  one  man 
a  frenzied  financier,  often  gaining  for  him  wealth  and 
position,  and  makes  another  man  a  thief,  gaining  for 
him  only  poverty  and  the  penitentiary !  And  this  was 


122     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

the  spirit  which  now  dominated  Denneth  entirely,  hav- 
ing conquered  his  youthful  impulses  for  good  and  made 
of  him  a  defiant  law-breaker  who  was  determined  to 
wrest  from  the  world  all  he  could  in  the  easiest  way, 
still  blindly  believing  himself  to  be  justified  because  of 
the  world's  injustice  to  him. 

To  one  who  had  known  Richard  in  the  freedom  of 
his  boyhood,  or  who  understood  that  quality  which 
had  made  him  despise  his  father's  cowardice  and  sanc- 
timony, this  development  of  lawlessness  would  not 
have  been  altogether  surprising.  As  the  young  judge 
who  had  sentenced  him  at  Dunham  had  once  publicly 
said,  thereby  incurring  the  animosity  of  certain  polit- 
ical powers :  "There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  criminal 
class.  All  men  are  possible  criminals,  all  criminals 
possible  men."  It  is  often  only  a  step  from  honesty 
to  dishonesty  for  an  energetic  and  imaginative  nature. 
Some  little  something  goes  wrong  with  the  balance 
wheel  of  a  healthy  mind,  and  there  springs  up  in  it 
a  growth  of  criminality,  criminality  in  the  sense  of 
not  recognizing  one  or  more  of  man's  laws.  The  vic- 
tim of  this  evil  growth  then  becomes  an  outcast.  He 
is  locked  in  solitary  and  unlighted  filth,  there  quickly 
to  become  a  menace  to  his  country;  and  all  because 
"Society  must  be  protected!"  The  poison  of  that 
criminal  growth  is  allowed  to  flourish  and  spread;  is 
fed,  in  fact,  with  physical  and  moral  abuse.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  a  physical  growth  like  cancer,  for  in- 
stance, appears  in  that  man's  body — that  is,  if  he  hap- 
pens not  to  be  a  prisoner — he  is  immediately  the  sub- 
ject of  the  greatest  care.  Sunshine  and  clean  air  is 
given  him.  Hundreds  of  dollars  are  spent  to  make 
his  body  well.  Yet  we  say  we  believe  that  our  minds 
are  the  only  divine  part  of  us !  If  we  do  believe  this, 
how  can  we  treat  them  less  well  than  our  bodies? 
Nevertheless  this  is  constantly  and  almost  universally 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     123 

done.  Surely  our  spiritual,  as  well  as  our  political 
and  economic  sight,  must  be  blind! 

"Is  everything  all  ready?'5  Denneth  now  asked  of 
Sam  as  the  latter  stood  awaiting  orders.  "Have  you 
positive  knowledge  that  they  are  all  going  to  be  out 
at  the  Hawthornes' ?" 

"Sure  thing,"  Sam  answered.  "The  Irish  pippin — 
the  peach,  you  know,  that  rules  the  roost  from  the 
kitchen,  told  me  so,  believe  me ;  or  I  wouldn't  be  stick- 
ing my  horns  through  the  fence — gittin'  my  patty 
cakes  stuck  on  the  tar  baby — going  into  the  deserted 
wigwam,"  he  translated  himself.  "See?" 

"But  are  you  sure  you  can  trust  her?"  Denneth 
asked,  smiling  at  the  remembrance  of  the  description 
which  Sam  had  given  of  his,  Sam's,  attentions  to  the 
good-natured  Irish  maiden-lady  of  chef  persuasions, 
who  had  eagerly  accepted  him  as  a  long-hoped-for 
steady,  and  promptly  divulged  all  the  secrets  of  the 
Hawthorne  household. 

"On  me  superior  judgment  of  hopeful  females," 
Sam  answered  glibly. 

His  partner  laughed  at  this.  "You  better  look  out 
that  your  'missus'  doesn't  find  out  about  your  flirta- 
tions!" And  then  he  was  immediately  sorry  he  had 
spoken,  for  Sam's  face  took  on  a  serious  look.  With 
all  his  crookedness  the  rough  fellow  had  never 
wavered  in  his  loyalty  and  devotion  to  his  "old  gal 
and  the  kids"  ;  and  in  spite  of  his  many  years  of  crime, 
his  mutilated  conscience  would  invariably  show  signs 
of  life  at  the  mention  of  their  names  in  connection 
with  his  profession.  His  love  for  his  family  showed 
that  he  had  been  made  for  better  things.  Noticing 
this  look  on  Sam's  face,  the  other's  sympathetic  un- 
derstanding promptly  responded,  and  he  said  to  Sam 
as  he  would  have  said  to  any  gentleman  born  in  his 
own  social  stratum : 


124     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Pardon  me,  old  fellow ;  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you." 

Sam  grinned  good-naturedly.  It  was  this  handsome 
quality  always  present  in  Denneth's  treatment  of  him 
that  had  made  the  other  man  such  a  devoted  and 
loyal  partner. 

"Gozzle  your  organ — swaller  your  chew — forgit  it, 
pal,"  Sam  said.  "There  ain't  no  caterpillars  on  your 
hickory  bark.  You're  all  right!  And  I  don't  keer 
what  you  speels  to  me  as  long  as  we  pipes  it  along 
together.  See?  Come  on,"  and  he  opened  the  outer 
door  leading  from  Richard's  rooms  to  the  hall  of  the 
apartment  house  in  which  he  lived. 

"Well,  Sammy,"  he  said,  "of  course,  if  you  are  sure 
that  all  of  them  are  to  be  out,  and  that  you  can  count 
on  your  friend,  Miss  O'Flanerty " 

"Sure  I  can  count  on  her,"  Sam  broke  in.  "What's 
the  matter  with  you  to-night  anyhow,  pal?"  he  asked. 
"You  ain't  after  singing  a  hymn — doing  the  deacon 
stunt — gittin'  cold  feet,  are  you?" 

Denneth's  eyes  snapped.  "No!"  he  exclaimed  ve- 
hemently. "The  world  owes  me  the  debt  it's  paying!" 
and  he  touched  his  white  hair  and  the  thick-lensed 
glasses  his  weakened  eyes  must  needs  always  wear 
because  of  his  dark  months  in  the  underground  cell. 
"I'm  a  criminal  now  all  right,  Sammy,  and  intend  to 
stay  one.  Don't  worry!" 

"Well,  as  I  was  a-saying,"  Sam  went  on,  "we'll 
have  a  clean  scoop — a  cinch,  I  tell  you.  Not  an  apron 
in  that  there  pink-tea  household  is  agoing  to  miss  that 
shindangling  dope---ball  yer  know,  at  the  hotel,  believe 
me!  And  the  onliest  pair  of  pants  in  the  family  is 
away.  But  I'll  jes  skin  down  the  fire-escape  here  whilst 
you  goes  out  like  a  gent.  It  ain't  becoming  for  me 
to  be  peeped  vamoosing  around  in  yer  presence  too 
much — even  if  I  do  be  a  sinner  you'se  trying  to  help 
— as  I  once  explained  to  the  bell  boys  here.  So,  so- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     125 

long,  pal.  I'll  peep  you  later,"  and  he  closed  the  door 
as  Denneth  Richardson  strode  on  through  the  halls 
and  down  and  out  into  Hampton's  well-filled  summer 
streets. 

Dressed  as  he  was  in  a  tuxedo  suit,  he  went 
jauntily  to  the  curb,  and  there  boarding  a  trolley  car 
that  would  take  him  to  Thornley-by-the-Sea  he  glanced 
back  to  see  Sam  Simmons  scurry  around  the  corner 
into  sight  and  start  off  by  another  route  for  the  same 
destination. 

The  night  was  a  warm  one  in  early  July;  and  as 
Denneth  alighted  from  the  car  and  walked  through 
the  trees  toward  the  twinkling  shore  settlement,  he 
breathed  in  deep  draughts  of  the  sweet  summer  air. 
The  moon  rose  above  him  and  tipped  the  incoming 
tide  with  silver.  The  outline  of  the  rugged  coast  with 
the  trees  in  the  foreground,  though  not  nearly  so  beau- 
tiful, reminded  him  of  that  other  and  beloved  spot 
in  his  native  state.  A  pang  went  through  him  at 
the  memory.  His  mother  seemed  suddenly  very  near, 
and,  his  conscience  reawakening,  a  remorse  for  what 
he  now  was  filled  him.  Yet,  throwing  his  head  back 
in  his  wonted  manner,  he  frowned  and  strode  forward 
defiantly.  He  would  see  the  thing  through. 


CHAPTER  IX 

DENNETH  RICHARDSON  and  Sam  Simmons  noise- 
lessly jumped  apart  as  a  shadow  from  a  waving  tree 
branch  was  thrown  across  their  path ;  then  seeing  what 
it  was  they  drew  together  again,  and  Sam  went  on: 

"It's  all  right,  I  tell  you,  pal.  Miss  O'Flanerty 
has  jes'  answered  my  signal  and  told  me  that  she  was 
the  only  tin  can  on  the  dump — oyster  in  the  stew — 
only  chicken  in  the  coop,  a  lone  female  squaw  in  the 
wigwam,  in  plain  American.  See?  And  she  assured 
me  in  gintle  birdlike  notes  of  encouragement  that  she 
was  sound  asleep  at  that!"  And  he  winked  while 
Denneth  smiled  grimly. 

"Very  well,  then.  I'll  go  ahead  to  the  front  door, 
while  you  keep  watch.  Never  enter  a  'wigwam' 
through  the  window  or  by  devious  ways  if  you  can 
help  it,  Sammy,"  he  said  nonchalantly,  in  his  superior 
knowledge  of  burglary  performed  by  shrewd  wits  as 
well  as  thieving  hands.  "Tread  boldly  or  soon  you 
won't  tread  at  all,"  and  he  swung  through  the  open- 
ing in  the  hedge  onto  the  winding  driveway  that  led 
to  a  charming  little  house  nestled  in  among  the  trees. 

Sam,  whistling  blithely,  walked  openly  before  the 
house  and,  then  skulking  silently  around  behind  it,  the 
next  minute  came  out  into  view  again,  every  little 
while  repeating  this  performance.  To  any  possible 
onlooker  he  would  not  have  been  taken  for  other  than 
a  casual  passer-by;  nor  if  seen  would  Denneth  Rich- 
ardson's boldly  striding  figure  have  aroused  suspicion. 
They  each  knew  their  business  thoroughly;  and  Sam's 
eyes,  in  spite  of  his  appearance  as  a  careless  moonlight 
stroller,  were  keen  in  their  practised  searching  for 
any  possible  danger  that  might  threaten  his  clever 
partner. 

126 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    127, 

On  up  the  driveway  Denneth  walked.  On  reaching 
the  steps  he  lightly  mounted  them  and  went  to  the 
door,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  according  to 
his  policy  of  bold  assurance.  Deliberately  he  fitted 
his  skeleton  key  to  the  lock  as  the  owner  of  the 
house  might  have  done.  Then  he  started.  His  muscles 
tensed  themselves  like  steel;  for  he  heard  a  half- 
suppressed  feminine  giggle  come  out  from  the  moon- 
dappled  tree  shadows  near  him  on  the  broad  piazza, 
and  a  mischievous  voice  spoke: 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Stevens,"  it  said  gaily,  and  a 
young  girl  stepped  full  into  the  moonlight  before 
him. 

He  could  not  answer  in  his  surprise,  and  the  girl 
continued :  "You  are  Mr.  Stevens,  aren't  you?"  Then 
laughing,  she  said:  "I  would  have  known  you  any- 
where from  your  football  pictures.  And,  besides,  of 
course  you  are !"  motioning  toward  his  hand  that  held 
the  key.  Then  before  Denneth  could  speak,  had  he 
wished  to  do  so,  she  said  in  a  petulant  voice:  "Oh, 
I  know  it's  perfectly  dreadful  for  me  to  be  here  like 
this,  and  that  you  think  so  too!  But  I  just  hate 
him,"  and  she  stamped  her  small  foot.  "Honestly  I 
do!  He's  a  horrid  old  thing,  and  I  don't  care  how 
much  money  he's  got,  I  hate  him!" 

Richard  stared.  To  him  the  girl's  words  naturally 
conveyed  no  meaning,  and  of  course  her  presence  on 
the  piazza  meant  great  danger  to  him  and  his  faith- 
ful watcher.  But  somehow  this  latter  thought  did  not 
enter  his  head  as,  looking  down  upon  her  fluffy  fair 
hair,  he  saw  also  a  pair  of  big,  black-lashed  blue  eyes 
gazing  up  at  him,  and  noticed  the  appealing  look  about 
her  face.  She  looked  as  his  mother  must  have  looked 
at  her  age  in  the  pure  whiteness  of  her  diaphanous 
dress.  She  was  exquisite!  The  prettiest  girl  he  had 
ever  seen! 


128     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Well,  why  don't  you  introduce  yourself?"  she 
pouted,  her  feyes  laughing  up  into  his.  "Because  you 
think  I'm  a  horrid  thing  to  be  here  on  your  piazza 
at  this  time  of  ni — day?"  and  though  blushing  furi- 
ously, she  tossed  her  head  in  dainty  defiance  and  went 
on: 

"Well,  of  course,  you  don't  have  to  speak  to  me  if 
you  don't  want  to,  but  your  cousin,  Dolly  Little,  is  my 
best  friend,  and  I — I " 

With  a  feeling  of  manly  protectiveness  toward  this 
lovely  creature,  Denneth  saw  that  the  girl  before  him 
was  becoming  terribly  embarrassed.  Gallantly  he  came 
to  her  rescue.  It  would  not  do  to  tell  her  she  was 
mistaken. 

"Of  course  I'm  Mr.  Stevens,"  he  said,  bowing  and 
forcing  himself  to  smile. 

"Well,  I'm  Marjory  Matthews,"  she  said  with  a 
finality  that  told  Denneth  he  must  show  her  imme- 
diately that  he  knew  who  that  person  was,  or  the  sit- 
uation would  become  more  awkward  than  ever. 

"Why,  Miss  Matthews,"  he  said,  "of  course.  How 
nice  to  meet  you.  I've  heard  Dolly  speak  of  you 
often.  It's  jolly  to  see  you  here " 

"It's  not  jolly!"  she  broke  in,  again  stamping  her 
foot.  "And  I  know  it  seems  horrid  to  you  that  I  am 
here,  and  all  that,  but  didn't  Dolly  write  you  ?  And  I 
tell  you,  I  hate  him!"  a  sob  rising  in  her  throat. 

Great  heavens,  what  should  he  do?  He  felt  more 
and  more  at  sea  as  her  disjointed  talk  continued ;  but, 
fortunately  before  an  answer  from  him  was  neces- 
sary the  girl  went  on : 

"Of  course,  I  know  I  should  not  say  it  to  you — 
but  I  read  all  your  letters  to  Dolly,  and  oh,"  shrug- 
ging her  white  shoulders,  "I  know  so  much  about  you 
I  feel  we — we  really  know  each  other,  don't  you? 
Mama  just  will  have  it  that  I'm  going  to  marry  that 


THE  IMPRISOXED  FREEMAN     129 

scrubby  old  thing!"  again  her  voice  choked,  "and  I 
won't,  I  tell  you!"  stamping  vehemently.  "That's 
what  I'm  doing  on  your  piazza.  I  didn't  know  you 

were  here "  Then  interrupting  herself,  she  asked 

indignantly :  "If  you  are  here,  why  didn't  you  answer 
my  note?  I  wrote  you  yesterday  as  I  promised  Dolly 
I  would,  telling  you  that  Mama  and  I  had  just  ar- 
rived at  the  hotel;  and  when  you  didn't  answer,  I  gave 
you  credit  for  being  away!  But,  of  course,  if  you 
don't  want  to  know  me,  you  don't  have  to!"  and  she 
wheeled  on  her  heel  as  if  to  walk  away. 

Denneth  felt  desperate.  What  an  idiot  he  was! 
Where  was  his  tongue? 

"Miss  Matthews,  I  have  been  away.  I  just  got  back 
this  minute !"  he  explained  in  such  a  worried  tone  that 
she  felt  he  had  been  scared  sufficiently ;  and  so  turning, 
she  lifted  her  face  and  dimpled  up  at  him,  saying  in 
absolute  irrelevance: 

"Then  you  do  know  what  a  horrid  old  scrubby 
thing  he  is,  don't  you  ?  Mama  made  me  go  to  the  ball 
with  him  and  I  just  wouldn't  stay,  so  there!  I  don't 
know  another  soul  yet,  and  I  just  had  to  poke  around 
all  evening  with  him !  So  I  sneaked  out  and  ran  away 
over  here.  I  didn't  think  anybody  was  at  home.  I — I 
wanted  to  think." 

Then  in  sudden  coquetry  she  exclaimed :  "I've  been 
watching  the  moon  all  by  myself,"  and  she  dropped 
her  lashes.  "I'm  so  glad  you  came.  I've  been  simply 
dying  for  you  to  get  home  and  ask  me  over  to  meet 
your  sister  and  aunt.  This  is  the  darlingest,  cutest 
house!"  looking  about  her.  "I  adore  it!" 

Her  presence  on  the  piazza  being  thus  explained, 
Denneth  felt  he  was  beginning  to  get  his  head  above 
water.  "Then  let's  watch  the  moon  together,"  he 
said  foolishly,  smiling  down  at  her  childishness,  yet 
wondering  what  in  the  world  he  should  do.  This  frail 


130    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

little  thing,  this  exquisite  girl  who  looked  like  the  pic- 
ture his  imagination  painted  of  his  mother's  girlhood, 
was  frustrating  his  plans  and  endangering  his  liberty. 
But  as  he  looked  down  into  her  flower-like  face  he 
could  not  for  the  life  of  him  dwell  on  this  fact,  nor 
care.  "Come  now,  isn't  it  the  nicest  thing  you  know 
to  sit  and  watch  the  moonlight  upon  the  water?"  he 
asked. 

Through  the  perfume-laden  summer  air  a  familiar 
screech-owl  hoot  sounded  a  sudden  note  of  warning. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  do  that,"  the  girl  said  in  her 
petulant  way.  Then  clapping  her  hands  together 
gleefully,  she  exclaimed :  "I  tell  you  what !  You  take 
me  back  to  the  ball.  Won't  Dolly  just  love  the  funny 
way  we  met !" 

Denneth  started  at  this  suggestion,  and  then  again 
a  hoot  of  warning  reached  his  ears,  and  recognizing 
its  signal  as  meaning  he  must  leave  his  present  post 
because  of  danger  ahead,  he  answered: 

"Good !    But  I  think  some  one  may  be  coming " 

"Oh,"  the  girl  gasped  in  conventional  alarm.  "Then 
let's  sneak  out  this  side  way.  What  would  people 
say  if  they  saw  us!"  and  she  ran  lightly  on  tiptoe 
across  the  piazza.,  Denneth  striding  after  her.  Scam- 
pering down  the  steps,  they  were  soon  out  of  the 
grounds  upon  the  village  path. 

Sam  Simmons  could  be  seen  approaching;  but  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  small  white  figure  by  Denneth' s 
side,  and  realized  that  the  latter  carried  no  "swag," 
he  halted  in  amazement,  while  Denneth  went  strolling 
with  his  new  companion  in  seeming  indifference  toward 
the  beach  and  the  hotel  a-twinkle  and  a-tinkle  with 
lights  and  music. 

"Won't  the  old  scrubby  thing  be  jealous  though!" 
Marjory  Matthews  dimpled  up  at  the  young  man  at 
her  side.  "And  Mama!  Oh!"  and  she  tossed  her 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    131 

head.  "But  he  is  horrid,  and  I'm  just  not  going  to 
be  worried  to  death !"  Then  after  a  pause :  "But  I 
guess  after  I  tell  mother  who  you  are,  she  won't  be 
so  cross.  She  adores  Dolly,"  and  chattering  on,  the 
pretty  little  thing  told  her  friend's  "cousin,"  whom 
she  thought  she  knew  so  well,  all  about  the  difficulties 
she  was  trying  to  meet  in  the  best  way  her  fluffy 
little  mind  knew  how.  She  was  a  perfect  slave  to 
the  whims  and  fancies  of  a  scheming  mother,  and 
though  she  was  worshipful  and  obedient,  as  she  had 
been  taught,  the  whole  of  her  nature  revolted  at  the 
idea  of  marrying  the  wealthy,  but  middle-aged  bache- 
lor, whom  her  luxury-loving  and  poverty-living  parent 
had  openly  chosen  for  her. 

Denneth  Richardson  was  apparently  listening  very 
gravely,  but  all  the  time  he  was  wondering  desperately 
how  in  the  world  he  could  escape  the  brilliant  lights 
of  that  fast-approaching  ballroom !  He  thought  with 
consternation  of  the  situation  in  which  he  might  find 
himself  if  he  were  introduced  by  his  companion  as 
Mr.  Stevens.  The  Stevenses  were  among  the  most  prom- 
inent of  the  colony,  he  knew;  and  if  even  Marjorie's 
mother  should  fail  to  recognize  that  he  was  not  a  mem- 
ber of  that  family,  others,  to  whom  he  might  be  intro- 
duced, doubtless  would.  He  thought,  too,  of  poor 
Sam,  who  was  waiting  for  him  loyally,  trusting  implic- 
itly in  his  superior  judgment  and  eventual  return  to 
successfully  accomplish  their  purpose.  What  should 
he  do?  Yet  in  spite  of  the  seriousness  of  that  ques- 
tion, he  walked  steadily  on,  smiling  down  at  the  girl 
by  his  side. 

"It's  a  darling  night!"  she  said,  her  moon-bathed 
face  turned  eagerly  upward  toward  the  sky.  "Don't 
you  simply  worship  dancing?  I  adore  it.  And  Dolly 
says  you  can  dance  as  wonderfully  as  you  play  foot- 
ball. You  look  as  though  you  could !" 


132     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

The  boy  flushed  at  her  slightly  veiled  look  of  ad- 
miration, and  a  grim  defiance,  unequaled  by  any  pro- 
duced in  him  even  by  the  most  dangerous  of  his  pro- 
fessional situations,  entered  his  heart  and  made  him 
resolve  to  go  with  her  that  evening  wherever  fate 
led,  regardless  of  consequences.  He  could  doubtless 
take  care  of  himself.  At  this  conclusion  and  the  vague 
happiness  it  brought,  he  absent-mindedly  slipped  his 
long  fingers  through  the  opening  in  his  shirt,  seeking 
for  his  mother's  locket.  Then  with  a  pang  he  re- 
membered. For  two  years  he  had  not  worn  it,  not, 
in  fact,  since  the  first  burglary  he  had  committed  out- 
side of  the  his  state.  The  leaving  off  of  this  be- 
loved talisman  was  the  one  and  only  admission  he 
had  ever  made  to  his  own  conscience  that  his  life  was 
other  than  all  it  should  be.  But  now  he  realized  what 
that  very  act  had  signified.  He  knew  now  that  his 
palliative  excuses  were  mere  sophistry;  that  he  had 
deliberately  put  his  better  nature  aside.  Then  the 
thought  came  that  he  was  unfit  to  be  walking  with 
this  dainty  girl  so  like  his  mother.  She  had  taken' 
him  for  another  man,  trusting  him  and  believing  him 
to  be  wholly  honorable.  In  fairness  to  her  he  must 
leave  her;  and  yet  his  heart  rebelled — he  would  wait 
till  they  reached  the  hotel. 

A  robin,  deceived  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  moonlight, 
roused  and  trilled  a  song.  The  trees  meeting  above 
their  heads  gently  swayed,  mottling  the  path  with 
shadows.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  subtle  per- 
fume of  sleeping  flowers  as  the  dew  stole  up  and 
spangled  them  with  moon-kissed  jewels.  The  waves 
dashed  booming  against  the  rocky  shore.  He  was 
free!  Life  had  not  been  fair  to  him.  He  deserved 
the  possible  happiness  that  a  new  future  might  bring; 
and  then  and  there,  true  to  his  impulsive  nature,  he 
determined  he  would  become  worthy  to  walk  by  this 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     133 

girl's  side!  A  revulsion  of  feeling  against  the  past 
two  years  encompassed  him  and  made  him  see  them 
in  their  true  light. 

The  girl's  upturned  face  had  by  now  taken  on  a 
dreamy  look  as  whimsical  as  a  small,  imaginative 
child's.  "The  night-fairies  have  spread  their  shadow 
mantles  clear  across  the  sky,"  she  said.  "See,  the 
baby-stars  are  wide  awake  and  are  winking  and  blink- 
ing at  us."  Then  as  a  big  green  luna-moth  flew  past 
them :  ''And  that's  the  Queen-of-Dreams,  Free  Fancy 
by  name,  who  takes  starlight  dreams  to  all  little  chil- 
dren everywhere "  Then  abruptly  changing  to  her 

regular  tone: 

"Here  we  are  at  the  hotel,"  as  they  reached  the  grove 
in  front  of  that  hostelry.  "Doesn't  it  look  cute  all  lit 
up?"  and  she  tripped  gaily  in  front  of  him  through 
the  trees  toward  the  light  and  music,  eager  in  her 
girlish  gracefulness  to  join  in  the  frolic  from  which 
she  had  run  away  only  a  little  while  before. 

"There  he  is,  right  there !''  she  pointed  excitedly, 
pausing  on  the  steps  and  pointing  through  the  open 
door.  "That  fat  thing  with  the  moustache,  sitting  like 
a  lummux  in  the  corner." 

As  Denneth's  gaze  followed  her  pointing  finger  he 
saw  two  men  rise  and  cross  the  ballroom,  pausing  in 
front  of  a  tall  dark  girl,  the  acknowledged  belle  of  the 
place.  "Well,  I  wish  you'd  look  at  that!"  Marjory 
exclaimed  as  the  older  man  danced  off  with  the  girl. 
"And  he  pretending  he  never  wants  to  go  anywhere 
unless  I'm  along.  Humph!  Just  like  a  man.  Fickle 
things!" 

Then  whirling  on  Denneth  she  continued  im- 
pulsively : 

"Well,  stupid,  aren't  you  going  to  ask  me  to  dance !" 
and  she  dimpled  up  at  him  impishly,  then  exclaimed: 
"Why,  I  didn't  know  you  had  white  hair!" 


134     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Wouldn't  you  rather  stay  out  here  and  watch  the 
water?"  he  asked,  ignoring  her  evident  amazement 
at  her  discovery.  But  he  was  so  afraid  of  losing  her 
that  his  tone  was  that  of  a  very  meek  suggestion. 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  dance !  I'll 
just  show  him."  Then  remembering  herself,  she 
glanced  up  at  Denneth  coquettishly,  murmuring 
gently:  "I  would  just  adore  dancing  with  you,  I 
know!" 

Denneth  again  flushed  with  pleasure.  Was  he  losing 
his  reason  entirely?  he  asked  himself,  recalling  why 
he  was  in  this  seashore  resort.  In  his  mind's  eye  he 
saw  Sam's  astounded  face  watching  him  from  the 
protection  of  the  trees.  Sam  could  be  trusted,  for- 
tunately. He  might  think  his  partner's  conduct  was 
"nutty,"  "bug-house,"  but  it  would  never  occur  to  him 
to  resent  it  or  to  doubt  its  ultimate  good  end  for 
them  both.  Sam  did  not  have  that  kind  of  an  intel- 
lect. He  had  been  made  of  clay  that  could  so  easily 
be  molded  that,  had  he  but  received  the  right  influ- 
ence in  his  childhood,  he  would  have  been  as  law 
abiding  as  he  was  now  lawless. 

Looking  down  at  the  lovely  face  upturned  to  his 
Denneth  no  longer  hesitated,  but  at  once  led  his  com- 
panion into  the  dazzlingly  brilliant,  flower-bedecked 
ballroom,  with  its  myriad-colored  lights  that  smote  his 
eyes  cruelly.  His  daredeviltry  and  defiance  flared.  He 
would  humor  her,  whatever  happened ! 

"You  know  I  want  to  dance  with  you!"  he  said  in 
so  serious  a  tone  that  the  coquette  in  her  was  satisfied. 

She  dimpled  again;  then  looking  up  at  him  in  a 
puzzled  way  said :  "It's  funny,  but  I  didn't  know  your 
hair  was  gray.  It  looks  white  in  your  pictures,  of 
course,  but  I  thought  it  was  just  blond."  Then  fear- 
ing lest  she  had  seemed  uncomplimentary,  she  hastened 
to  say:  "I  think  prematurely  gray  hair  is  darling! 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     135 

It's  particularly  cute  with  a  young  face,  I  think.  I 
adore  it,  don't  you?" 

"But  there's  Mama  beckoning  to  me  as  usual,"  she 
broke  off  to  say.  "I'll  have  to  introduce  you — and 
there  he  is  with  her,  jealous  old  silly!  What  will  he 
say!  Come  on!"  and  though  Denneth's  heart  pounded 
with  alarm,  he  followed  the  girl. 

Mumbled  and  unintelligible  words  of  introduction 
were  soon  over,  and  she  had  taken  him  away  from  the 
other  two,  saying:  "Well,  are  we  going  to  dance  or 
do  you  still  prefer  to  moon  at  the  moon?" 

Denneth  was  too  overcome  by  happiness  to  even 
try  to  answer  her.  In  fact,  he  seemed  not  to  hear 
anything  she  had  to  say,  but  placing  his  arm  about  her 
guided  her  around  the  ballroom  with  a  feeling  of 
vague  triumph. 

She  seemed  as  light  as  thistle-down  in  her  rhyth- 
mical swaying  in  time  with  the  music.  Each  moved 
in  perfect  accord  with  the  other;  but  though  Den- 
neth's arm  encircled  her,  guiding  her  skilfully  through 
the  maze  of  other  dancers,  with  a  sinking  of  his  heart 
he  realized  that  their  lives  were  necessarily  very  far 
apart.  The  blackness  of  his  prison  experience  flashed 
before  him,  seeming  to  drown  her  frivolous  chatter. 
It  made  a  picture  of  such  sharp  contrast  that  Denneth 
felt  a  glory  now  fill  him.  His  mother's  last  words 
returned  in  what  he  thought  must  be  a  prophecy: 
"God  is  love,  not  vengeance.  Life  can  be  happy.  Sun- 
shine— flowers — love !" 

On  they  danced.  The  past  vanished.  The  present 
was  glorious — must  never  end!  He  had  never  seen 
any  one  like  her  before!  His  heart  seemed  about  to 
burst  with  its  old-time  hope  and  joy  of  living. 

After  several  music-thrilled  whirlings  through  a 
seventh  heaven  filled  for  him  with  fluffy  blonde  hair 
and  uplifted  blue  eyes,  Marjory  stopped,  and  laugh- 


136     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ing,  stepped  out  of  his  arms.  "I'm  all  out  of  breath! 
Let's  go  to  the  grove,"  and  she  led  the  way  from  the 
ballroom,  keeping  up  a  gay  chatter  until,  finding  a 
seat  beneath  a  wide-spreading  oak,  she  imperiously 
commanded  him  to  sit  beside  her. 

The  sea  rolled  in  in  great  undulating  waves  upon  a 
tiny  strip  of  beach  to  be  seen  between  the  huge  gray 
rocks  of  the  shore;  and  as  each  wave  succeeded  each 
Denneth  was  taken  back  over  the  years  to  that  night 
of  his  mother's  death,  when  he  had  sat  on  the  shore 
of  his  beloved  bay  and  watched  the  tide  come  in. 
Once  again  his  imaginative  eyes  saw,  as  they  had 
then,  the  faces  of  sea-maidens  who,  lured  by  human 
lovers  upon  the  shore,  came  eagerly  to  them — only 
to  die. 

He  told  the  girl  by  his  side  something  of  his 
mother.  Then  he  told  her  also  of  his  own  big  bay 
and  how  this  scene  recalled  his  old-time  fancies. 

In  big-eyed,  childish  interest  she  entered  into  his 
mood,  first  expressing  a  timid  but  real  regret  at  his 
sorrow,  and  then,  much  to  Denneth's  delight,  talking 
dreamily  of  her  own  imaginings  as  a  child.  There  was 
a  wistful  pathos  in  her  tones  which  made  him  won- 
der if  she  too  had  known  unhappiness.  Yet  he  could 
not  conceive  of  such  a  thing,  and  banishing  the  thought 
he  listened  as  she  said: 

"I've  always  believed  in  fairies — I  mean  the  really 
truly  fairies,  not  the  Grimmy  kind,"  and  she  continued 
to  smile  dreamily  up  at  him,  intuitively  knowing  that 
he  would  not  laugh  at  her  whims.  "When  I  was  a 
teeny  weeny  little  thing  I  used  to  hunt  for  fairies  all  the 
time.  One  day  I  saw  an  old  priest  Bumble-bee  marry 
a  Prince  and  Princess  Lily  by  carrying  her  a  golden 
ball  of  pollen  instead  of  a  golden  wedding  ring!  I  saw 
happy  spray  fairies  dancing  in  brooks.  A  storm  for 
me  meant  that  the  sky  fairies  were  having  a  battle,  for 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     137 

the  thunder  fairies'  guns  roared,  and  the  lightning 
fairies  flashed  their  swords  of  fire!  In  Grandma's 
garden  way  down  in  Virginia  all  sorts  of  flowers  be- 
sides the  lilies  grew.  The  rain  was  the  cloud  fairies' 
tears,  and  after  they  had  made  the  flowers  grow  the 
flowers'  souls,  once  earth-bound,  were  freed  and  re- 
turned to  the  sky  glorified  to  help  make  the  rainbow." 

Denneth  sat  erect  and  motionless,  gazing  at  her.  It 
all  seemed  too  wonderful,  too  beautiful,  to  be  true. 
The  night,  the  nearness  of  her,  her  imaginings  that 
were  echoed  by  his — imaginings  that  he  loved  so  well, 
yet  had  not  dwelt  upon  for  years !  He  did  not  know 
there  were  such  girls  as  she;  and  with  this  thought 
the  joy  of  beauty  and  youth  with  its  aspirations  was 
reborn  in  him,  killing  the  old  age  that  crime  had  made. 
Leaning  over,  he  said  softly,  lest  he  break  her  dream- 
spell  : 

"Yes?    Tell  me  more." 

His  voice  aroused  her,  however,  and  the  whimsical 
look  left  her  face,  to  be  as  quickly  replaced  by  one  of 
Eve-old  coquetry. 

"Oh,  dear,  I  know  you  think  I'm  awfully  silly!" 
she  said,  looking  at  him  from  beneath  her  lashes. 
"Mama  says  I  am,  and  I  reckon  she's  right."  Then 
a  wistful  expression  succeeded  the  less  attractive  one 
upon  her  fine-featured  little  face.  "Mama  says  I've 
grown  up  now  and  mustn't  talk  such  foolishness;  that 
men  don't  like  it.  And,  of  course,  I  must  make  men 
like  me,  to  be  popular.  Mama  says  that's  why  South- 
ern girls  are  so  much  more  attractive  than  Northern 
girls."  And  then  remembering  the  nativity  of  her 
companion,  she  said  :  "Oh,  excuse  me,  I  forgot.  Some- 
how Dolly  always  seemed " 

But  she  got  no  further,  for  the  unexpected  change 
in  her  had  affected  Denneth  strangely.  Her  words 
made  him  feel  resentful,  he  knew  not  why.  A  feeling 


138    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

of  restless  impatience,  like  that  which  used  to  fill  him 
at  his  father's  perverted  outlook  on  life,  filled  him 
now,  and  so  he  said : 

"Your  mother  is  wrong.  You're  not  silly.  Such 
thoughts  are  beautiful,  wonderful!"  Then  he  flushed 
at  his  own  words. 

But  pluming  herself,  the  young  girl,  made  experience- 
old  by  her  mother's  false  ambition  for  her,  coquetted 
and  exclaimed:  "Oh,  Mr.  Stevens!" 

At  the  name,  and  at  her  changed  manner,  he 
frowned  darkly.  Then  a  gentleness  toward  her  frailty 
and  beauty  again  possessed  him,  quickly  followed  by 
his  old  defiance,  ten-fold  strengthened  because  of  his 
deep  and  growing  admiration  for  her  in  spite  of  her 
parent-imposed  self-consciousness.  She  reminded  him 
of  his  mother.  He  must  be  to  her  and  for  her  only 
his  very  best  self.  He  must  not  let  even  a  thought  of 
his  father  intrude  itself  upon  his  present  state  of 
mind.  He  must  start  right.  Yet  he  reflected  that 
to  do  so  he  must  needs  start  with  a  lie — that,  in  fact, 
he  had  started  with  a  lie.  He  inwardly  cursed  him- 
self for  ever  having  lived  so  that  this  was  necessary! 
But  ordinary  self-preservation  told  him  he  must  not 
give  his  rightful  name.  The  past  was  unretrievable. 
There  was  no  help  for  that  now.  Yet  he  would  start 
anew  as  cleanly  as  he  could.  If  it  was  possible,  this 
girl  by  his  side  should  make  of  him  the  man  which 
his  mother  would  have  wished  him  to  become. 

"Miss  Matthews,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  Mr.  Stevens. 
I'm  sorry  that  you  mistook  me  for  him." 

She  gave  a  squeal  of  dismay,  but  unheeding  he  went 
manfully  on.  "In  fact,  you  were  not  on  the  Stevens' 
piazza,  you  were  on  the  one  next  door " 

"Then — then,  who  are  you?"  she  broke  in,  breath- 
ing hard  and  speaking  in  a  small,  frightened  voice. 
Her  society  manner  and  foolish  little  frivolities  were 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     139 

all  gone  now,  and  she  looked,  as  Denneth  thought,  like 
a  frightened,  tired  little  child.  He  must  protect  her. 

"I'm  Denneth  Richardson,"  he  said.  "And  please 
don't  feel  embarrassed  about  this.  It's  all  right." 
Then  more  seriously,  fighting  for  his  future,  he  said 
earnestly : 

"Miss  Matthews,  I  don't  know  Dolly  Little.  I  never 
heard  of  you  and  you  never  heard  of  me  until  to- 
night. You  know  nothing  about  me  except  what  I 
told  you  about  my  mother  and  my  former  home.  But 
as  God  is  my  judge,  I  would  rather  know  you,  I  would 
rather  be  your  friend,  than  anything  else  in  the  world ! 
I — I  haven't  had  a  very  successful  business — that  is, 
I  haven't  liked  the  business  I  was  in.  But  I'm  going 
to  find  something  else  to  do  soon  now,  and — and — 
Won't  you  let  me  be  your  friend?  I  shall  try  to 
make  myself  worthy." 

He  was- in  deadly  earnest,  and  Marjory  Matthews, 
whose  depth  of  nature  was  entirely  unsuspected  by 
either  her  pretty  incompetent  mother  or  her  pretty 
incompetent  self,  felt  strangely  touched  by  the  young 
man's  earnest  manliness.  The  very  best  in  her  re- 
sponded instantly  to  the  best  in  him;  but  true  to  her 
lifelong  custom,  she  could  not  speak  out  honestly  as 
he  had  spoken,  but  let  the  coquetry  fostered  and  fed 
by  her  mother  arise  in  her,  causing  a  blushing  silence 
which  smote  Denneth  like  a  whip  lash. 

He  rose.     "I'm  sorry  if  I  have  intruded,"  he  said. 

Then  the  true  Marjory,  the  Marjory  that  the  girl 
herself  was  destined  not  to  know  until  suffering  had 
taught  her  much,  arose  in  her  and  she  exclaimed :  "No, 
no,  don't  go!  I  like  you!"  And  then  at  this  frank 
speech  a  feeling  of  timidity  came  over  her,  even  before 
Denneth  had  seized  her  hand,  which  he  impulsively  did 
at  that  confession. 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  he  said,  and  she  was  surprised 


140     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

at  the  intensity  of  his  look,  though  she  nodded  and 
dimpled. 

He  dropped  her  hand.  "Then  excuse  me  a  minute. 
I'll  come  right  back,"  and  he  was  off  before  she  could 
stop  him. 

Giving  the  usual  signal,  he  hurried  past  the  lights 
of  the  hotel,  and  on  to  the  rocks  upon  the  ocean  edge, 
while  Sam  Simmons,  understanding  the  signal,  fol- 
lowed eagerly. 

"Whose  cradle  did  you  rob?  Whose  petticoat  was 
it?  Where'd  you  git  the  baby  doll,  in  plain  Amer- 
ican?" he  asked,  jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoul- 
der in  the  direction  of  the  girl. 

"That  will  do  for  you,"  Denneth  said  in  a  tone  that 
Sam  had  never  heard  him  use  before. 

"But,  Sonny " 

Denneth's  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  the  other's 
shoulder.  "Just  wait  until  I  explain  matters  a  bit," 
and  he  went  on  talking  earnestly;  for  as  they  walked 
further  and  further  away  from  Marjory,  Denneth 
found  this  sudden  determination  to  desert  his  faithful 
partner  would  be  no  easy  accomplishment,  in  view  of 
their  previous  successful  business  relations  together. 
He  felt,  nevertheless,  that  he  must  break  away  from 
such  a  partnership  forever.  He  must  make  a  future 
for  himself — and,  he  hoped,  perhaps  for  her. 

Marjory  sat  waiting,  dangling  her  small  aristo- 
cratic feet  and  looking  down  at  the  rhinestone  buckles 
as  they  flashed  in  the  moonlight.  A  renewed  loathing 
for  the  middle-aged  suitor  that  her  mother  was  try- 
ing to  thrust  upon  her  swept  over  her.  She  flushed. 
After  all,  he  (looking  toward  Denneth's  retreating 
figure)  really  was  the  most  interesting  man  she  had 
ever  met.  He  had  told  her  he  lived  in  Hampton.  Well, 
Hampton  wasn't  far  away,  and  she  and  her  mother 
were  settled  there  by  the  sea  for  the  summer 


"Marjie,  my  little  love,"  a  drawling  voice  broke  in 
upon  her  thoughts,  "what  in  the  world  are  you  doing 
here,  child?  Don't  you  know  we  have  been  looking 
everywhere  for  you?"  and  the  speaker  glanced  toward 
the  man  by  her  side.  "And  what  would  people  say  if 
they  saw  you  alone  this  way?" 

"I'm  not  alone!"  Marjory  answered  petulantly,  jerk- 
ing impatiently  away  from  her  mother's  hand  and 
looking  off  after  Denneth's  figure,  now  to  be  seen  very 
faintly  silhouetted  against  the  moonlit  water.  Her 
every  gesture  plainly  told  the  older  man  that  for 
her  he  did  not  exist;  and  at  the  irritable  indifference 
of  her  manner  toward  him  a  quick  flush  passed  over 
his  face,  leaving  it  drawn  and  white. 

"Not  alone?"  her  mother  repeated  tartly,  with  diffi- 
culty controlling  the  sharp  note  that  would  come  upper- 
most in  her  voice,  while  her  stylish  bosom  heaved  with 
the  ladylike  effort.  "Well,  who  is  the  invisible  Prince 
kneeling  at  your  feet,  I  would  just  like  to  know,  my 
love?"  and  she  forced  a  laugh,  though  every  line  of 
her  pretty  young-old  face  showed  her  concealed  rancor 
and  irritation  with  the  girl. 

"Mr.  Denneth  Richardson  has  been  with  me,  and 
will  be  with  me  again  shortly,"  Marjory  answered, 
continuing  to  gaze  straight  in  front  of  her,  while  the 
toes  of  her  slippers  tapped  the  ground  as  she  held 
her  small  head  very  erect. 

"Denneth  Richardson?     Who  in  the  world " 

"He's  Dolly  Little's  friend,  whom  I  introduced  to 
you  just  now.  Didn't  you  catch  the  name?"  Mar- 
jory lied  defiantly.  Then  for  once  in  her  life,  losing 
all  sense  of  dignity  and  respect  for  her  mother  in 
the  real  distress  the  forcing  of  Mr.  Asquith's  atten- 
tion bred  in  her,  she  said  in  an  impudent  mimicry : 

'  'He's  handsome,  his  family  is  good,  he  has  mon — 
I  mean  he  is  very  eligible,  my  love,  and  altogether  de- 


142     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

sirable.' '  Then  she  remembered  and  checked  her- 
self. Not,  however,  before  the  man  at  her  mother's 
side  had  given  Mrs.  Matthews  a  sharp  look,  while 
that  lady,  too  astonished  and  angered  at  her  daugh- 
ter's evident  rebellion  to  reply,  stood  stock  still,  glar- 
ing at  her  daughter.  Then  Marjory  continued  in  a 
more  submissive  tone :  "Yes,  Mama,  I  know  I'm  hor- 
rid— I've  shocked  you  both,  but,"  more  desperately,  "I 
can't  help  it!"  And  choking  back  a  sob  she  got  up 
and  walked  away,  leaving  the  couple  standing  beside 
the  bench. 

"Mr.  Asquith,"  Mrs.  Matthews  almost  wept  in  her 
angry  distress,  "I  don't  know  what  Marjie  means  by 
such  conduct,  I  really  don't.  She  must  be  ill — out  of 
her  head.  I  must  take  her  to  her  room,  the  poor  dear 
love!  I  don't  know  what  people  would  say  if  they 
knew  of  her  conduct " 

But  Mr.  Asquith,  although  pale,  was  very  calm  and 
said  quietly :  "I  think  I  understand  the  situation  bet- 
ter than  you  do,  Mrs.  Matthews.  Pardon  me,  but  if 
you  leave  us  now  I  think  I  can  make  things  all 
right— 

"But,  Mr.  Asquith,"  the  mother  said  as  she  nerv- 
ously fingered  the  ultra-fashionable  gown  designed  to 
recreate  in  her  a  girlish  effect  incommensurate  with 
her  years,  "I  hope  you  aren't  hurt.  Marjie  doesn't 
mean  anything.  I'm  perfectly  sure !  She  really  is  in 
love  with  you — why,  she  couldn't  help  being!  She 
says  so  a  dozen  times  a  day." 

"Mrs.  Matthews,  I  think  you  had  better  leave  us. 
I  must  speak  alone  to  Marjory." 

"But,  Mr.  Asquith,"  Mrs.  Matthews  again  broke 
in,  sensing  his  fateful  attitude  and  fighting  desperately 
lest  the  anticipated  comforts  he,  as  her  son-in-law,  could 
give  her  would  now  be  made  impossible,  "I  know  she 
is  in  love  with  you!  Girls  are  such  sensitive  plants, 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     143 

you  know.  The  very  delicacy  and  exquisiteness  of 
their  affection  makes  them  shrink  from  any  display 
of  emotion.  I  beg  that  you  do  not  speak  harshly  to 
my  little  flower.  She — she —  The  poor  little  love 
is " 

"Madam,  I  again  ask  your  pardon,  but  I  must  say 
good-night,"  and  turning  on  his  heel  he  followed  after 
Marjory,  who  had  fled  down  the  winding  path  through 
the  grove  toward  the  water. 

"You  little  vixen!''  Mrs.  Matthews  exclaimed  an- 
grily, her  nostrils  dilating  as  she  looked  after  her 
daughter's  fleeing  figure.  "I'll  cure  your  airs.  Just 
you  see!  The  very  idea!  And  when  I'm  moving 
heaven  and  earth  to  make  you  happy,  too!  Why  the 
man  can  afford  to  buy  us  almost  anything!"  and  she 
indignantly  marched  off  toward  the  hotel,  there  to 
talk  with  other  mothers  about  "her  dear  little  love" 
and  their  entire  devotion  and  congeniality. 

Stanley  Asquith's  legs  carried  him  rapidly  forward; 
but  in  his  heart  such  a  heaviness  and  hopelessness 
weighed  that  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  any  physical 
motion,  and  scarcely  knew  what  he  did  or  that  he 
moved  at  all.  With  a  bravery  typical  of  his  nature, 
one  thought  and  one  thought  alone  possessed  him  now. 
He  must  relieve  the  distress  he  had  caused  this  girl 
to  suffer,  it  mattered  not  at  what  cost  to  himself.  He 
had  been  a  blind  fool — and  cruel.  He  must  make  rec- 
ompense. Catching  up  to  her,  he  said  in  a  quiet  voice 
of  command: 

"Marjory,  come  back,  dear.  I  must  talk  to  you," 
and  he  took  her  by  the  hand. 

She  fretfully  pulled  away  and  was  about  to  speak 
when,  putting  one  hand  beneath  her  chin,  he  raised 
her  head  and  forced  her  eyes  to  look  up  into  his.  The 
expression  she  saw  there  held  her  dumb. 

"Do  not  say  anything  you  will  regret  afterward," 


144     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

he  cautioned  her  gently.  "Come,"  and  he  took  her 
hand. 

So  used  was  she  to  allowing  his  firm  gentleness  to 
control  her  that  now  she  let  him  lead  her  back  to 
the  bench  upon  which  she  and  Denneth  had  been 
sitting. 

"Sit  down,"  Mr.  Asquith  said,  and  she  dropped 
limply  to  the  seat,  her  eyes  still  fastened  in  a  half- 
frightened  stare  upon  his. 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  his  face,  but  he  quickly 
controlled  it,  and  a  look  which  lifted  him  above  his 
middle-aged  mediocrity  illumined  his  eyes.  "Mar- 
jory," he  said,  "give  me  your  left  hand." 

The  girl  dazedly  obeyed,  and  he  quickly  slipped  the 
ring  from  the  third  finger  and  dropped  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then  in  a  low  voice  he  spoke,  "It  is  all  over,  little 
girl.  I've  been  mad.  I've  always  known  you  didn't 
care;  but  I  hoped  I  should  make  you  care.  To-night 
I  saw  you  dancing  with  that  handsome  boy;  I  saw — 
But,  no  matter.  You  must  be  happy!  If  my  love 
which  makes  me  want  to  make  you  my  wife  distresses 
you,  then  in  its  place  accept  a  love  as  big  and — less 
selfish,  perhaps.  Real  love  must  not  give  distress. 
My  love  is  real,  and  I  want  to  see  you  happy.  For- 
give me  for  ever  being  a  blind  fool.  I  realize  every- 
thing now,  and  you're  free.  I  shall  always  want  to 
help  make  you  happy  in  any  way  I  can.  Good  night," 
and  bending  he  touched  his  lips  to  her  hair.  "Little 
girl,  little  girl,"  he  said  brokenly;  and  then  straight- 
ening up  he  strode  briskly  away. 

For  a  moment  Marjory  sat  looking  stupidly  at  her 
vacant  finger,  and  then  with  an  unwonted  depth  of 
feeling  jumped  up  and  ran  after  the  retreating  figure. 

"Stanley!"  she  called  brokenly. 

The  man  whirled  about  and  stepped  toward  her, 
then  stopped. 

Marjory  rushed  straight  on  and  flung  her  arms  about 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     145 

his  neck,  burying  her  head  on  his  breast.  For  a  mo- 
ment a  great  hope  filled  him.  His  arms  came  eagerly 
forward  and  he  started  to  draw  her  to  him,  and  then 
instead  gently  pushed  her  away  and  looked  down  into 
her  convulsed  face. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  he  asked  gently.  "Don't  cry," 
as  the  tears  overflowed  her  eyes.  "What  is  it?"  The 
hope  in  him  would  not  be  quelled,  and  yet  he  knew 
deep  in  his  heart  that  things  could  never  be  any  dif- 
ferent from  what  they  were. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!"  Marjory  said,  with  little  tear- 
ful gasps  between  each  word.  "I  didn't  know  you  were 
so  good.  I — do  love  you " 

His  arms  shot  convulsively  about  her.  She  put  her 
hands  against  his  coat  and  burying  her  face  in  them 
sobbed:  "But  not  that  way,  Stanley;  not  the  way  you 
love  me.  I'm  awfully  sorry !  You're  so  good!  For- 
give me !" 

His  arms  dropped ;  then  raising  one  of  his  hands  he 
lovingly  stroked  the  hair  back  from  her  forehead, 
soothing  her  as  gently  as  though  she  had  been  a  child. 
She  should  not  suffer. 

A  shadow  fell  across  their  path,  and  looking  around 
Marjory  saw  Denneth's  tall  figure  coming  toward 
them.  She  stepped  away  from  the  other  man,  but  not 
before  Denneth's  eyes  had  taken  in  and  misunderstood 
the  scene. 

Without  a  word  he  turned  away  and  disappeared 
among  the  trees,  while  Marjory,  sobbing,  ran  toward 
the  hotel.  She  was  dreadfully  sorry  for  Stanley,  of 
course — dreadfully!  But,  oh,  my  goodness,  what  in 
the  world  would  people  say  if  any  one  besides  Den- 
neth  had  witnessed  this  scene!  And  Denneth —  Oh, 
my  goodness,  what  should  she  do!  He  was  so  hand- 
some and  fascinating — the  most  interesting  man  she 
had  ever  met !  What  in  the  world  should  she  do ! 


CHAPTER  X 

STANLEY  ASQUITH,  his  face  half  buried  in  his  hands, 
sat  upon  the  shore  trying  to  forget ;  but  instead  he  saw 
Marjory's  dimpling,  piquant  face  ever  before  him,  her 
lithe,  swaying  body  dancing  among  the  shadows  cast 
by  overhanging  trees  on  the  inrolling  water.  With 
her  image  there  always  came,  too,  the  handsome  face 
of  the  young  man  as  Stanley  had  seen  him  guiding 
her  about  the  ballroom.  Together  they  swayed  and 
turned  in  perfect  rapturous  unison.  Again  he  recalled 
the  look  in  the  eyes  of  both;  a  look  he  had  never 
seen  in  Marjory's.  There  came  to  him  also,  as  if  from 
a  mirror,  his  own  image,  stout,  middle-aged,  old 
enough  for  the  girl's  father.  He  held  the  two  pic- 
tures before  his  mind's  eye — himself  and  Marjory, 
and  the  young  man  and  Marjory.  Youth  and  middle- 
age  seldom  belonged  together.  He  had  undoubtedly 
done  right  in  releasing  her.  It  was  the  only  honor- 
able way,  and  yet 

Denneth's  introduction  to  him  again  recurred  to 
him.  Denneth's  face  had  fascinated  him.  There  was 
an  expression  about  it  that  had  drawn  him  irresistibly, 
a  something  so  vague  he  could  not  describe  it,  yet  he 
felt  it  as  a  drawing  of  his  nature  toward  that  of  the 
boy's.  Not  being  a  man  to  notice  such  things  as  a 
rule,  or  to  be  influenced  by  them,  he  marveled  at  this. 
He  had  been  too  busy  all  his  life  to  make  friends; 
but  this  young  man's  face  haunted  him.  Where  had 
he  seen  him  before  ?  As  he  gazed  at  the  waves  he  re- 
called his  own  youth  and  its  desperate  struggle.  He 
suspected  that  his  present  unhappiness  might  well  have 
been  avoided  had  he  had  an  older  man  to  help  him 
to  success  while  he  was  yet  young.  Was  this  young 

146 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    147 

man  with  his  strangely  pathetic,  yet  strong  face  hav- 
ing a  like  struggle?  Had  he  fallen  in  love  with  little 
Marjory  on  sight,  too?  And  what  had  the  expression 
in  her  eyes  meant  ?  Restlessly  he  put  these  sentimental 
thoughts  from  him.  He  was  a  regular  old  woman 
matchmaker  in  his  morbidness! 

There  reached  him  the  harsh  voices  and  loud  guf- 
faws of  the  hotel  waiters  at  their  early  morning  tasks. 
Impatient  of  their  inopportune  mirth,  he  got  up  and 
began  pacing  the  shore,  his  mind  still  going  back  over 
the  months  he  had  known  and  loved  Marjory 
Matthews. 

Had  she  ever  loved  him — or  was  their  engagement 
solely  a  scheme  on  her  mother's  part  to  gain  the 
worldly  comforts  he  could  give  her?  He  squared  his 
chin  at  this  thought,  suspected  several  times  before, 
and  now  knew  it  to  be  true.  All  his  life  he  had  put 
ambition  before  all  else  in  the  world.  From  a  poor, 
unknown  boy  he  had  become  a  financial  power  in  the 
state  of  his  adoption;  but  in  so  doing  youth  and  love 
had  passed  him  by  unnoticed  until  a  few  months  be- 
fore, when  he  had  met  this  little  Southern  girl.  Fool 
that  he  was,  he  had  not  realized  then  that  it  was  too 
late!  He  deliberately  recalled  their  companionship, 
letting  every  scene  of  the  past  happy  months  pass  be- 
fore him,  reveling  in  the  memory  of  that  first  evening 
when  he  had  seen  her,  an  exquisite  will-o'-the-wisp,  a 
wood  nymph  dancing  and  singing  among  the  flowers 
of  her  grandmother's  Southern  garden.  Yes,  what  he 
had  done  the  evening  before  must  surely  be  right; 
but  it  was  hard!  Yet  the  young  man  was  of  the 
right  age  for  her.  But  what  had  become  of  him,  he 
wondered  for  the  first  time.  Where  was  he  and  who 
was  he?  He  had  not  returned  to  Marjory  as  she 
had  expected  he  would.  He  himself  had  led  her  back 
to  her  mother,  excited  and  sobbing  at  the  conclusion 


148     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

of  their  fateful  interview.  Had  the  younger  man  re- 
turned, watched,  and  misunderstood  the  scene  between 
himself  and  Marjory?  If  so,  of  course  it  was  nec- 
essary that  he  should  be  disabused  of  his  error.  Mar- 
jory must  have  a  fair  chance  of  happiness — that  is,  if 
happiness  lay  in  that  boy's  direction,  as  he,  Stanley 
Asquith,  thought  likely.  He  walked  on  down  the 
shore. 

In  the  meantime  Denneth  Richardson  had  been 
tramping  the  woods,  righting  as  he  had  only  fought 
during  the  night  following  his  mothers  death.  It  was 
true,  he  recalled,  that  Marjory  Matthews  during  the 
first  moments  of  their  meeting  had  told  him  about 
this  other  man,  but  somehow  he  had  not  taken  in  the 
full  import  of  that  information,  nor  that  she  was  ac- 
tually engaged  to  him,  until  he  experienced  the  shock 
of  the  scene  he  had  intruded  upon  when  he  had  sought 
to  return  to  her.  Long  before  that,  however,  in  his 
characteristic  impulsive  way,  he  had  planted  her  image 
in  his  heart  in  equal  place  with  that  of  his  mother. 
At  bottom  he  was  an  idealist,  not  having  lost  that 
quality  even  during  his  worst  moments  when  his  father 
in  him  held  sway ;  and  now  he  knew  that,  having  once 
met  this  beautiful  girl,  so  suggestive  to  him  of  his 
mother,  he  could  not  go  back  to  the  life  he  had  led 
the  past  two  years  without  deliberately  choosing  to 
follow  his  evil  nature,  which  he  hated,  yet  which  had 
grown  to  be  as  strong  in  him  as  his  good.  An  old- 
time  bitterness,  prison  nurtured,  came  to  make  the 
battle  between  the  two  even  more  hard.  Life,  he 
thought,  while  seeming  to  hold  the  cup  of  happiness 
to  his  lips,  had  in  reality  made  him  drink  of  a  new 
disappointment.  Should  he  go  back  to  his  life  of 
crime  ?  It  was  doubtless  easier. 

A  squirrel  ran  out  to  the  tip  of  the  boughs  beneath 
which  he  stood  and,  stopping  there,  scolded  him  ve- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     149 

hemently.  The  sun  arose  in  a  blush-hued  sky  as  ex- 
quisite as  the  cheek  of  an  awakening  child,  admonish- 
ing the  birds  to  cease  their  morning  song  and  take  up 
the  serious  business  of  life.  The  dew  fell  away  from 
the  flowers,  and  they  lifted  their  sleep-freshened  faces 
to  smile  up  at  him.  Everything  was  free.  Should 
he,  as  free  by  birth  as  they,  deliberately  bind  himself 
once  more  to  crime  and  its  ever-present  consciousness 
of  the  danger  of  detection?  His  whole  better  nature 
revolted  at  the  idea.  His  mother's  face  seemed  to  be 
before  him.  For  the  first  time  since  his  escape  from 
the  prison  the  full  appreciation  of  the  joy  of  the 
woods  entered  his  heart.  He  was  nature's  freeman. 
Again  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  had  on  that  first  day 
in  the  penitentiary,  "The  State  may — and  did — im- 
prison my  body,  but  my  spirit  it  can  never  imprison!" 
He  could  live  as  he  once  before  had  planned;  but  this 
time  no  thought  of  his  father  should  enter  in  to  spoil 
his  freedom.  Surely  there  must  be  some  place  in  the 
world  for  him  other  than  that  wrhich  he  had  been  fill- 
ing, did  he  but  live  as  his  best  self  dictated.  He 
would  secure  an  honest  job  somewhere.  He  would 
succeed!  There  came  to  him  the  memory  of  Judge 
Sawyer's  face  as  it  had  looked  on  that  day  in  Dun- 
ham, three  years  before.  Though  the  judge  had  failed 
to  keep  his  promise,  nevertheless  Denneth  had  often 
thought  of  him,  and  he  felt  in  his  present  repentant 
mood  that  he  would  give  much  to  have  a  man  like  the 
judge  for  his  friend.  If  he  cleaned  his  slate  of  crime 
and  began  life  over  again,  this  might  be  possible!  At 
this  thought  his  heart  beat  faster.  He  would  try  and, 
no  matter  what  happened,  he  would  go  straight,  too! 
Reaching  a  slight  moss-grown  elevation  beneath  a 
low-boughed  hemlock,  he  threw  himself  down  upon 
it  and  lay  looking  up  into  the  thick  green  of  the  forest 
world  above  him.  The  shade  was  ever  grateful  to  his 


150     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

eyes,  for  almost  constantly  the  left  one  hurt  and 
troubled  him.  He  watched  a  flicker  move  round  and 
round  the  limbs  of  a  tree,  his  soft  brown,  black-dotted 
breast  mingling  with  the  shadows.  All  troubled 
thoughts  fell  away  from  him.  A  keen  pleasure  in  the 
wild  life  he  shared  carried  him  back  to  the  careless 
innocence  of  his  early  boyhood.  It  almost  startled  him 
when  the  flicker,  deciding  on  flight,  brought  into  relief 
its  brilliant  red  nape,  the  yellow  shafts  of  its  wings, 
and  the  flashing  white  of  tail  patches,  contrasting  so 
conspicuously  with  its  shadowy  tones  while  at  work. 
Very  faintly,  illusively,  the  smell  of  belated  azaleas 
was  borne  on  the  breeze,  to  remind  him  poignantly  of 
his  mother.  Absent-mindedly  he  reached  for  his 
locket. 

With  a  flash  of  determination  he  jumped  to  his 
feet,  scaring  a  robin  that  was  hopping  about.  A  man 
stepped  out  in  front  of  him. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said  cordially.  "You  seem  to 
be  an  early  riser  also." 

Startled,  Denneth  did  not  answer,  but  stared  at  the 
man  dumbly  as  he  continued :  "It's  beautiful  this  time 
of  the  year  in  these  woods.  I  am  often  reminded  here 
of  those  of  my  boyhood." 

Denneth  caught  himself  just  in  time  to  keep  from 
showing  his  agitation,  and  the  other  went  on  pleas- 
antly: "I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the  village  of 
Barrington,  next  to  the  great  seaport  town  of  a  couple 
of  hundred  or  so  inhabitants,"  and  he  smiled,  "of 
Dunham-on-the-Coast.  It  seems  we  have  a  mutual 
friend  in  little  Miss  Matthews,  who  introduced  us  last 
night." 

Yes,  the  boy  was  all  he  had  been  picturing  him. 
Honest  eyes,  though  rather  disconcerting  in  their 
dauntless  gaze,  square  chin,  with  proudly  held  head; 
lips  slightly  too  thin  and  compressed  perhaps,  but — 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     151 

well,  he  was  worth  the  thing  that  he,  Stanley  Asquith, 
had  decided  to  do.  "And  where  are  you  from,  if  I 
may  ask,  Mr.  Stevens?" 

"Hampton,"  Denneth  answered.  And  then  went  on : 
"But  my  name  is  Richardson,  Mr.  Asquith;  Denneth 
Richardson,  and  not  Stevens.  Miss  Matthews  seemed 
to — er — get  me  slightly  mixed  with — er — another  last 
evening  on  introducing  us." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  Mr.  Asquith  answered.  "You  and  Miss 
Matthews  have  been  friends  some  time,  I  presume?" 

"No,"  Denneth  said.  "I  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing her  only  last  night." 

The  other  man  looked  a  little  surprised  at  this,  but 
continued:  "I  see.  I  suppose  the  fact  that  she  said 
you  were  a  friend  of  Dolly  Little's  gave  me  that 
impression." 

Denneth  darted  a  quick  glance  toward  the  man. 
What  did  it  all  mean?  Why  was  he  disposed  to  be 
so  friendly.  A  pang  of  fear  shot  through  him  as  it 
had  never  failed  to  do  on  the  slightest  provocation 
since  his  escape  from  prison.  In  fact  it  had  often 
seemed  to  Denneth  that  that  constant  wearing  appre- 
hension, that  never-ending  watchfulness,  tainted  every 
breath  of  freedom  he  had  drawn  since.  Was  the 
man  spying  upon  him,  sounding  him?  Yet  he,  too, 
felt  a  strange,  strong  feeling  of  attraction  to  him, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  stood  in  the  way  of  his 
loving  Marjory;  and  as  he  walked  along  listening  to 
his  talk,  there  arose  in  him  a  sense  of  confidence  and 
perfect  trust  which  no  manner  of  arguing  or  jealousy 
could  dispel.  He  was  vaguely  conscious  of  having 
seen  him  somewhere  long  before,  but  try  as  he  would 
he  could  not  recall  when  or  where.  He  wondered  if 
by  chance  he  knew  Judge  Sawyer.  He  wondered 

"Yes,  I  came  away  from  home  when  I  was  just  a 
little  older  than  you  are.  I — knew  Miss  Matthews's 


152     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

father  there.  She  seems  almost  like  my  daughter," 
he  said,  watching  Denneth's  start  of  relief  at  this  ex- 
planation of  the  scene  he  had  witnessed  the  night  be- 
fore. "I  had  a  hard  struggle  getting  work  I  wanted 
when  I  first  went  to  Hampton.  Plenty  of  work  lying 
around  for  young  fellows,  but  no  future  in  it.  I 
finally  got  located  in  a  bank  and — well,  now  I'm  presi- 
dent of  several.  I  have  worked  hard,"  and  at  the 
words  the  memory  of  his  lost  youth  and  love  clouded 
his  brow,  but  he  continued:  "I  was  very  ambitious. 
Certain — situations  in  my  youth  made  me  determined 
to  succeed  in  a  worldly  sense.  I  was  half  inclined  to 
go  into  the  ministry  after  I  heard  some  of  the  schol- 
arly men  in  the  Hampton  pulpits.  I  was  brought  up 
in  the  hell  and  damnation  doctrine  of  a  village,  where, 
however,  all  sorts,  of  unacknowledged  and  untalked-of 
depths  of  sin  prevailed,  uncombatted  by  the  clergy 
because  not  recognized  as  within  their  province,  and 
in  Hampton  I  awoke  for  the  first  time  to  realize  what 
God's  ministers,  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word,  could 
mean  to  the  world.  Love  and  not  vengeance  is  their  doc- 
trine, and  with  sympathetic  understanding  and  breadth 
of  view  they  accomplish  immeasurable  good.  But 
during  that  time  I  had  not  lost  my  dream  of  financial 
power.  Somehow  the  desirability  of  that  loomed  very 
large,  perhaps  because  of  my  past  experience,  and  so 
I  let  the  opportunity  slip  by.  Then  I  felt  that  had  I 
the  talent  I  should  like  to  go  upon  the  stage ;  for  after 
all  the  stage  is  our  greatest  vehicle  for  good  if  used 
in  the  proper  way.  I  did  not  have  the  histrionic  abil- 
ity, however,  and  so  I  have  just  stuck  to  my  job  in 
the  bank.  For  awhile  I  lost  my  ideals,  more  or  less. 
But  I  have  gotten  them  entirely  back,  thank  God! 
Banking  may  not  be  so  interesting,  and  sometimes  it 
has  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not  be  of  so  much  use  in 
the  world  from  such  a  post.  But,  after  all,  Mr.  Rich- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    153 

ardson,  I  have  now  come  to  realize  that  there  isn't  a 
single  place,  it  matters  not  how  small  or  low,  from 
which  we  cannot  hold  out  a  helping  hand  if  we  want 
to.  People  don't  have  to  wait  to  be  rich  to  be  philan- 
thropic. There  is  often  more  real  philanthropy  among 
those  actually  in  need  than  there  is  from  those  who, 
in  the  world's  estimation,  can  afford  to  give.  In  fact, 
I  do  not  believe  that  giving  is  a  matter  of  poverty  or 
riches,  but  is  a  matter  of  the  spirit. 

"But  I  am  preaching  you  a  regular  sermon,  I  fear," 
he  broke  off  to  say.  "Do  forgive  me!"  and  Mr.  As- 
quith  smiled  up  at  the  tall  young  man  at  his  side. 

"The  truth  is  young  men  and  their  futures  interest 
me  prodigiously.  I  didn't  have  much  chance  as  a  kid. 
Middle-age  doesn't  count  for  much,  according  to  my 
way  of  thinking,  except  to  help  youth  along.  Clean, 
virile  youth  is  every  country's  true  strength,  whether 
it  recognizes  that  fact  or  not.  Great  and  revolutionary 
thoughts  have  always  been  evolved  from  young  minds 
— but  here  I  am  preaching  again !"  he  said,  once  more 
interrupting  himself.  "You'll  think  me  a  terribly  long- 
winded  bore !"  and  he  laughed. 

Richard  was  held  spellbound.  What  manner  of  man 
was  this,  he  asked  himself.  In  the  old  free  days  of 
his  boyhood  he  and  his  mother  had  often  discussed 
some  such  half-formed  thoughts  and  ideals;  but  oh, 
how  far  away  he  had  drifted  since  the  agony  of  his 
prison  hours!  A  few  days  ago  he  would  not  have 
believed  there  existed  such  a  man  as  that  with  whom 
he  now  walked.  Then  like  an  unexpected  peal  of 
thunder  the  man's  name,  together  with  the  whispers 
against  his  father's  past  which  had  sometimes  reached 
him,  crashed  through  his  consciousness.  Could  such 
a  thing  be  possible,  he  wondered?  But  instead  of  the 
loathing  he  would  have  expected  himself  to  entertain 
toward  the  unacknowledged  child  of  his  father's  sin, 


154     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

he  felt  only  redoubled  admiration  of  the  man.  A  feel- 
ing of  loyalty  and  joy  flooded  through  him.  If  what 
he  suspected  were  true,  and  the  same  blood  ran  in 
their  veins,  was  it  not  a  wonderful  thing  that  had 
come  to  him — this  meeting  with  a  splendid  man,  and 
discovering  his  relationship  to  him,  unsuspected  by  the 
other!  He  was  proud  of  this  man  who  had  worked 
himself  up  from  obscurity  to  an  enviable  position  in 
the  world.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  call  him 
brother  if  circumstances  had  not  been  what  they  were. 
The  whole  situation  seemed  unreal.  The  man  had 
continued  talking,  but  for  some  minutes  Denneth  had 
heard  nothing  he  said. 

"What  business  are  you  in,  Mr.  Richardson?"  Then 
with  a  whimsical  smile,  "And  what  business  would  you 
like  to  be  in,  for  it  seems  the  human  lot,  generally, 
for  us  not  to  be  filling  our  own  particular  niches.  Do 
you  agree  with  me?"  he  asked,  his  words  sounding 
to  Denneth  as  though  they  were  lines  rehearsed  from 
a  play. 

It  was  a  queer  feeling  that  possessed  him,  a  crazy 
thought  that  perhaps  the  other  part  of  his  life  had 
never  happened  after  all.  Also  a  vivid  sense  that 
he  had  indulged  in  this  conversation  a  dozen  times 
before  with  honest  gentlemen  who,  had  they  even  so 
much  as  suspected  his  past,  would  have  turned  him 
over  to  the  police  at  once.  But  in  spite  of  this  he 
heard  himself  answering  the  man  in  a  perfectly  normal 
voice,  while  an  intensely  earnest  desire  to  lead  a  good 
life  possessed  him. 

"I  would  like  to  'make  good'  just  as  you  have,  Mr. 
Asquith,"  he  answered,  looking  him  squarely  in  the 
eyes.  "It  doesn't  matter  how,  just  so  it  is  honest." 

"Banking  ever  appeal  to  you  ?"  his  companion  asked, 
watching  the  play  of  expression  across  Denneth's  sen- 
sitive face. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     155 

Denneth  flushed.  Again  he  had  the  feeling  that  it 
had  all  happened  before;  yet  for  the  life  of  him  he 
could  not  understand  Mr.  Asquith's  interest  in  him. 
He  knew  no  thought  of  their  real  relationship  could 
have  entered  his  mind  with  Denneth' s  changed  looks 
and  name.  Besides,  it  was  doubtful  whether  the  man 
had  ever  seen  him  when  as  youth  and  small  boy  they 
had  lived  in  adjoining  villages.  What  was  his  real 
purpose  in  this  conversation  ?  Could  it  possibly  be,  as 
it  seemed,  solely  to  help  him,  a  mere  stranger?  It 
really  was  entirely  too  extraordinary  and  preposterous ! 
Yet  their  relationship  undoubtedly  had  unconsciously 
drawn  them  to  each  other.  At  least,  he  felt  absolutely 
sure  now  that  the  man  was  not  trying  to  track  him 
to  earth! 

He  was  reminded  of  impossible  stories  he  had  read, 
where  a  lone  boy,  for  instance,  cast  adrift  in  a  great 
city,  all  at  once  found  he  had  a  wealthy  benefactor 
standing  at  his  elbow — a  benefactor  who  apparently 
had  been  doing  nothing  all  his  life  but  pine  for  the 
moment  to  come  when  he  could  step  forward  just  in 
the  nick  of  time,  and  save  the  poor  but  honest  hero 
from  a  murderer's  grave. 

It  was  plain  to  him  that  the  man  by  his  side  was, 
in  the  vernacular  of  Sam  Simmons,  no  "sentimental 
highbrow,"  no  social  worker  who  did  not  understand 
what  he  was  doing.  Any  one  could  see  by  his  clean- 
cut  look  that  he  was  a  business  man  of  the  world  who 
knew  exactly  what  he  was  doing.  Hateful  as  the 
memory  of  his  father  was  to  him,  Denneth  could 
imagine  that  he  saw  about  him  a  certain  look  of  aris- 
tocracy like  his  father's. 

"Being  mutual  friends  of  Miss  Matthews's  friend, 
Miss  Little — whom  I  know  very  slightly,  by  the  way — 
I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Richardson,  that 
I  have  a  place  in  one  of  the  banks  I  am  connected 


156     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

with  which  might  suit  you,"  Mr.  Asquith  was  saying, 
"and  I " 

Denneth  was  so  overcome  with  surprise  and  grati- 
tude that  he  did  not  even  hear  the  rest  of  the  sen- 
tence. His  heart  pounded  and  his  old-time  spirit  of 
irresponsible  joy  so  surged  over  him  that  every  other 
emotion  was  swept  from  his  consciousness.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  luck  had  turned  his  way  ?  It  was  hard 
to  believe,  and  yet  the  courage  and  optimism  which  had 
kept  him  alive  through  all  his  prison  punishment  would 
not  let  him  disbelieve  it!  He  grasped  at  it  as  does 
a  drowning  man  at  a  straw.  No  feeling  of  his  dis- 
honesty in  passing  for  a  friend  of  a  girl  he  had  never 
heard  of  until  the  evening  before  entered  his  head.  He 
would  have  a  place  in  the  world !  He  would  win  Mar- 
jory and  be  a  credit  to  her  and  to  his  little  mother! 
Then  after  success  had  come  and  he  had  proved  his 
worth  he  would  tell  his  benefactor  who  he  really  was. 
The  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated  until  they  almost  cov- 
ered the  iris,  and  wheeling  he  grasped  his  companion 
by  the  hand. 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  he  said  huskily,  his  face  flushing 
and  paling  as  he  looked  at  the  man  keenly.  "But 
you  don't  know  anything  about  me.  I  might  be — I 
might  be " 

"I  believe  in  trusting  young  men,"  and  seeing 
Denneth' s  gratitude  Stanley  Asquith  smiled  and  said 
nothing  more,  but  walked  on  with  him,  letting  the 
young  man  think  the  thing  out  in  silence. 

A  chance  for  him,  Denneth's  thoughts  ran.  A  crim- 
inal, a  fugitive  from  State's  Prison!  A  lump  rose 
in  his  throat.  Never  once  did  it  occur  to  him  that 
his  was  a  coward's  part  unless  he  told  his  whole  story 
and  let  this  man,  after  hearing  it,  judge  as  to  whether 
he  then  wanted  to  help  him  or  not.  He  knew  that 
when  he  had  entered  the  prison  he  was  honest.  He 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    157 

felt  his  dishonesty  since  was  excusable  because  of  that 
terrible  injustice  done  him.  What  was  the  use  of 
running  the  risk  of  telling,  he  argued.  Besides  he  had 
a  right  to  this  chance. 

Not  until  years  afterward  did  he  realize  the  dis- 
honesty of  his  present  conduct.  Self-preservation  was 
strong  in  him.  He  did  not  know  that  the  very  path 
which  he  thought  straight  was  made  crooked  at  the 
outset  by  the  cowardice  to  which  he  was  now  yielding. 
This  trait  of  character  he  inherited  from  both  par- 
ents— from  his  father  the  cowardice  was  of  the  more 
tangible  form,  physical,  while  the  spiritual  form  was 
derived  from  his  mother,  that  cowardice  which  had 
made  her  continue  to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  she  had 
hated  and  feared.  Women  generally  possess  more 
courage  to  endure  pain  or  suffering  than  men,  for  they 
were  molded  for  the  mother  hour.  But  a  cowardice 
of  the  spirit,  born  of  ages  of  imposed  dependence,  is 
often  theirs,  and  fearing  to  do  without  luxuries  they 
stoop  to  mate  with  men  as  providers  with  no  thought 
of  the  sanctity  that  should  encompass  that  act;  or, 
with  no  purpose  of  bearing  children,  enter  into  the 
marital  relationship  which  God  gave  to  His  creatures 
as  a  thing  sacred  to  people  His  earth  with  offspring 
in  purity  and  love. 

"It  is  not  a  very  big  position,  Mr.  Richardson," 
Denneth  heard  Mr.  Asquith  saying;  "but  as  assistant 
receiving  teller  you  will  have  an  opportunity  to  learn 
something  of  our  way  of  doing  business.  Later,  per- 
haps  " 

"Big  position,"  Denneth  almost  shouted  in  his  hap- 
piness. Then  controlling  his  voice,  he  said :  "It's  the 
biggest  thing  any  man  ever  did  for  me,  Mr.  Asquith. 
I  haven't  many  friends,  and — no  relatives;  and  be- 
sides you  know  nothing  about  me!  Some  day  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  myself." 


158    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

He  meant  it  then  in  his  gratitude,  entirely  oblivious 
to  the  fraud  involved  in  the  present  withholding  of 
the  confidence;  but  he  honestly  believed  and,  there- 
fore, added:  "In  the  meantime  I  shall  make  myself 
worthy  of  the  trust  you  have  put  in  me.  I  swear  it," 
and  too  overcome  with  emotion  to  say  more,  he 
abruptly  turned  on  his  heel,  and  left  his  companion. 
The  woods  alone  could  understand  his  present  joy. 

"He  seems  like  a  fine  young  man,"  Stanley  Asquith 
said  as  he  watched  Denneth's  figure  disappear  among 
the  trees.  "It  will  be  a  real  pleasure  to  me  to  help  him 
toward  success." 

The  early  morning  sun  filtered  through  the  leaves 
and  began  a  flickering  dance  among  the  wild  flowers 
at  Denneth's  feet.  A  bumble-bee,  startled  from  a  gold- 
hearted  blossom  growing  in  a  spot  where  no  tree  cast 
its  shade,  buzzed  about  his  ears,  and  then  flew  away 
toward  the  faint  murmur  of  a  far-away  brook.  A 
song  sparrow  called  to  its  nesting  mate.  Blue  jays 
flashed  by,  while  the  high-pitched,  plaintive  note  of  a 
pee-wee  mingling  with  the  gossipy  song  of  the  chick- 
adee reached  his  gladdened  ears.  As  he  made  his 
way  through  the  fairyland  of  nodding  woods,  flower- 
strewn,  he  could  hear  the  ever-increasing  laughter  of 
the  little  brook  as  it  ran  over  its  bed  of  stones  toward 
the  big  rock,  where  its  crystal  water,  clear  as  truth, 
fell  in  a  sparkling  cataract,  dashing  up  rainbow-tinted 
spray  which  the  sun  turned  to  jewels  set  in  lace.  Den- 
neth  drew  in  his  breath  with  pleasure. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts !"  a  laughing  voice  said, 
apparently  from  out  the  blue-skied  space  above  the 
laughing  brook.  "My,  but  you  seem  serious  this  morn- 
ing!" and  before  he  could  even  look  about  to  see 
whence  the  merry  tones  came,  Marjory  Matthews 
jumped  out  from  among  the  laurel  bushes  fringing 
the  stream.  Dimpling,  she  held  out  her  hand  in  friendly 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     159 

greeting.  ''Well,  Mr.  Dreamer,  you  don't  have  to 
say  good-morning  to  me  unless  you  want  to,"  she 
added  petulantly.  "You  can  stand  there  all  day  like 
a  stupid  if  you  wish,  and  gap  at  the  brook  as  though 
you  had  never  seen  one  before;  I  don't  care!"  And 
pretending  to  start  away,  she  flung  back  the  words : 
"You're  a  rude  thing,  anyhow!  You  left  me  last 
night." 

Denneth's  pulses  quickened  and  he  hurried  after 
her,  all  his  former  timidity  gone  and  quite  equal  to 
cope  with  her  eccentricities. 

"Yes,  and  what  did  I  see  when " 

Then  he  broke  off,  sorry  that  he  had  spoken;  for 
an  evident  change  had  come  over  the  girl,  and  stand- 
ing very  still  she  looked  up  at  him  with  hurt,  startled 
eyes.  She  really  had  not  known  how  much  he  had 
witnessed  of  the  scene  between  Mr.  Asquith  and  her- 
self. He  had  turned  from  the  path  so  quickly  and 
with  no  indication  of  having  seen  anything  that  all 
through  the  troubled  night  she  had  half  believed  their 
figures,  hers  and  Mr.  Asquith's,  had  really  failed  to 
attract  his  attention  in  the  darkness  of  the  grove.  She 
had  fervently  hoped  so.  Now  she  felt  worried  and 
puzzled. 

"But — but  I  didn't  mean  anything  by  that."  And 
then  angered  at  herself  for  speaking  so  frankly  to  a 
comparative  stranger,  she  continued  tartly  :  "You  have 
no  right  to  speak  to  me  this  way  anyhow!"  Indig- 
nant tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

Denneth  was  immediately  chagrined  and  humbled, 
and  said  contritely,  himself  embarrassed  by  his  unin- 
tentional boldness :  "Of  course  I  haven't.  Forgive 
me."  He  felt  so  sure  that  the  older  man's  affection 
for  this  girl  was  merely  fatherly  that  he  could  think 
of  nothing  but  her  actual  presence  now.  Her  own 
only  half -under  stood  phrases  uttered  about  him  at  their 


160    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

meeting  on  the  Stevenses'  porch  were  entirely  forgot- 
ten in  his  eagerness  for  her  good  will. 

The  flirt  in  her  did  not  like  this  attitude  in  him, 
however,  any  more  than  she  had  liked  his  previous 
boldness;  and  so  she  said  on  purpose  to  hurt  him,  for 
the  expression  of  his  eyes  was  plain  enough  to  read : 
"Well,  of  course,  you  know  I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  As- 
quith."  Then  the  kindliness  of  her  real  nature  com- 
ing up  she  concluded  aimlessly,  "that  is,  I  was" 

Denneth  frowned.  He  did  not  like  nor  admire  these 
unexpected  changes  in  her.  He  resented  it  fiercely 
whenever  she  became  other  than  the  dreamy  little  crea- 
ture he  liked  to  believe  she  was;  the  confiding  child- 
woman  who  had  admitted  so  frankly  that  she  believed 
in  fairies — "the  really  truly  kind."  He  had  seen  her 
thus  the  night  before  in  the  grove  where  the  waves 
seemed  an  accompaniment  to  her  exquisitely  modulated 
voice  that  had  so  thrilled  him.  Then  she  had  fulfilled 
every  ideal,  both  mentally  and  physically,  that  he  had 
ever  had  of  a  woman.  He  did  not  want  her  to  possess 
any  other  side.  He  hated  the  worldliness  that  some- 
times peeped  out  from  her  innocent  eyes.  With  true 
masculinity,  he  decided,  without  even  knowing  he  did 
so,  that  she  must  be  only  the  feminine  perfection  of 
gentle  helplessness  that  he  liked.  At  any  thought  of 
her  being  otherwise,  he,  the  many-sided  male,  felt 
cheated  and  annoyed! 

"Well,  why  don't  you  say  something?"  Marjory 
asked.  "Didn't  you  hear  me  say  that  I  was  engaged 
to  Stanley  Asquith?" 

He  looked  at  her  hard  and  steadily  until  in  real 
confusion  she  dropped  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then 
recovering  the  self-possession  years  of  teaching  had 
given  her  to  make  her  fit  to  battle  against  her  world- 
old  enemy,  man,  she  glanced  coquettishly  up  at  him 
through  her  long  lashes. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    161 

"There  is  nothing  for  me  to  say,"  he  answered  sto- 
lidly, though  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  tingled. 
"Except  that  in  my  estimation  any  woman  who  is 
lucky  enough  to  be  engaged  or  to  have  been  engaged 
to  Mr.  Asquith  is  indeed  fortunate." 

This  time  she  forgot  her  coquetry  completely,  and 
her  eyes  opened  wide  in  childish  amazement.  "Why, 
what  do  you  know  about  him?  You  only  met  him 
last  night." 

"I  know  this,"  Denneth  answered;  "he  is  the  finest 
man  I  ever  met." 

Marjory's  eyes  opened  wider  than  ever  at  this 
speech;  but  unheeding  her,  Denneth  stooped  forward 
and,  clearing  a  big  moss-grown  rock  at  the  foot  of 
an  ash,  said  firmly: 

"Sit  here,  Miss  Matthews,"  and  reaching  out  for 
her  hand  he  helped  her  to  the  rock. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  stood  upon  it,  then  turning 
upon  him  flared:  "But  suppose  I  don't  want  to?" 

"You  do  want  to,"  he  said  firmly,  and  stretched 
himself  out  at  her  feet. 

She  hesitated  a  second  more;  and  then  shrugging 
her  shoulders,  sat  down.  What  was  the  use  of  try- 
ing to  coquette  with  a  man  as  stubborn  as  this  one 
before  her?  She  had  never  met  any  one  like  him. 
She  didn't  quite  like  his  high-handedness,  it  is  true, 
but 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  more  fairy  stories  like  last 
night,"  he  said  abruptly.  Then  losing  his  masculine 
assurance  he  smiled  up  at  her  and  begged  like  a  small 
boy:  "Please.  They  remind  me  of  my  mother's 
stories." 

Marjory  capitulated.  "I  was  just  fooling  about  Mr. 
Asquith." 

"I  knew  that,"  Denneth  said  with  disinterested  as- 
surance. "He  told  me  he  felt  almost  as  if  you  were 


162     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

his  daughter.  But  tell  me  those  stories !"  and  he  settled 
himself  back  more  comfortably. 

Marjory's  match-making  mother  would  have  indeed 
been  horrified  to  see  how  little  now  remained  of  the 
girl  who  had  been  drilled  into  a  Southern  siren;  for 
something  in  the  boy's  frank  admiration  of  her  made 
her  forget  that  she  was  other  than  the  little  girl  who 
had  played  with  the  fairies  in  her  grandmother's 
garden. 

"See  those  spray  fairies  dancing  about  that  big 
rock,"  she  asked  dreamily,  after  a  few  minutes  of 
silence,  pointing  toward  the  boulder  which  Denneth 
had  noticed  on  his  arrival,  and  over  which  the  water 
dashed  and  foamed.  "Well,  that's  the  home  of  the 
water  sprites ;  and  the  reason  they  are  so  happy  is  that 
they  laugh  and  dance,  it  matters  not  how  hard  their 
tasks  may  be.  That's  the  secret  of  true  happiness 
they  taught  me  when  I  was  a  little,  little  girl.  Some 
day  I'm  going  to  write  a  book  about  it.  Don't  you 
think  people  who  write  books  must  be  happy — really 
happy,  I  mean?" 

Denneth  looked  at  her  sharply.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed,  and  the  lids  of  her  lovely  eyes  looked  half 
swollen  and  reddened.  He  had  noticed  it  when  he  first 
saw  her  there,  and  noticed  also  that  her  voice,  though 
gay,  had  a  note  of  pathos  in  it.  Was  she  unhappy? 
There  was  no  trace  of  unhappiness  now.  Yet  some- 
thing told  him  that  her  life  did  not  have  all  of  the 
happiness  it  seemed  to  have.  The  vain  face  of  the 
pretty  mother  as  he  had  seen  it  the  evening  before 
came  before  his  mind's  eye.  Was  that  it?  He  sighed. 
He  felt  sure  there  was  nothing  between  her  and  Stan- 
ley Asquith.  Stanley  Asquith  had  said  so,  and  he 
trusted  him.  What  was  the  meaning  of  the  momen- 
tary flashes  of  pathos  and  appeal  in  Marjory's  piquant 
face? 

Marjory  chattered  on,  telling  her  dainty  fancies,  and 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     163 

he  watched  her,  studying  every  expression  of  her 
ever-changing  eyes.  Life  was  very  sweet  and  full  of 
promise  for  him  just  then.  The  past  seemed  never 
to  have  been.  His  mother's  last  words  sang  through 
his  brain.  As  always,  he  took  the  bit  in  his  teeth, 
so  to  speak,  and  determined  that  he  would  wrest 
enough  happiness  from  the  future  to  make  up  for  the 
past.  Ideas  meant  action  invariably  with  him;  and 
so  jumping  to  his  feet  he  broke  in  upon  her  dreamy- 
voiced  whimsies. 

Looking  steadily  down  at  her,  he  said  boldly: 
"Marjory  Matthews,  Mr.  Asquith  offered  me  a 
place  in  his  bank  this  morning.  I  accepted  it.  When 
I  have  made  good — and  I  am  going  to  make  good — • 
I'll  ask  you  to  marry  me!"  Then  under  his  breath, 
so  that  she  could  not  hear  him,  he  said :  "and  you  will, 
too.  I  know  it,  I  feel  it!"  And  before  the  truly 
astonished  girl  could  so  much  as  move  he  had  marched 
off  and  left  her. 

Everywhere  budding  happiness  reigned.  The  sum- 
mer world  was  his — and  hers!  Snatches  of  Shelley 
came  to  him,  and  he  recited  them  aloud  as  he  and  his 
mother  used  to  do: 

"The  fountains  mingle  "with  the  river, 
And  the  rivers  with  the  ocean; 
The  winds  of  heaven  <mix  forever, 
With  sweet  emotion " 

Then  breaking  off,  he  jumped  to  the  next  stanza: 

"See  the  mountains  kiss  high  heaven, 
And  the  waves  clasp  one  another; 
No  sister  flower  would  be  forgiven 
If  it  disdained  its  brother; " 

The  song  of  birds,  the  perfume  of  flowers,  the  wild, 
free  dashing  of  the  waves  upon  the  shore  reached  him. 
Throwing  back  his  head,  a  blithesome  whistle  such 
as  he  had  not  known  for  years  burst  from  his  happy 

« .  c  r  j 

lips. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  orange-red  and  russet-brown  of  late  September 
soon  lost  itself  in  flaming  October,  and  then  Thanks- 
giving snows  began  to  fall.  Summer  was  long  dead. 
But  in  the  hearts  of  Denneth  and  Marjory  reigned  a 
springtime  that  they  thought  unalterable.  True  to 
his  word,  Denneth  had  entered  the  employ  of  Stan- 
fey  Asquith,  quickly  advancing  from  assistant  receiv- 
ing-teller to  the  position  of  receiving-teller  itself,  while 
Marjory,  reinforced  by  Mr.  Asquith's  influence,  had 
succeeded  in  overcoming  her  mother's  threats  and 
pleadings,  and  had  married  Denneth,  the  man  she 
loved.  The  locket  that  Denneth' s  mother  had  given 
him  now  nestled  against  her  soft  white  bosom,  and  a 
very  modest  ring  encircled  the  finger  that  Stanley 
Asquith  had  deliberately  yielded  to  the  younger  man. 
The  words  that  made  them  one  were  said  under  the 
freedom  of  the  arching  trees,  far  away  from  the 
crowded  city,  for  never  could  Denneth  be  quite  so 
happy  as  when  standing  beneath  the  open  sky,  and 
Marjory  welcomed  his  suggestion  because  of  its  ro- 
mantic appeal. 

An  ideal  honeymoon  followed.  Always  afterward 
those  weeks  in  camp  were  typified  to  Marjory  by  big 
fires,  the  homey  smell  of  roasting  chestnuts,  glimpses 
of  shy  deer,  the  flash  of  the  stray  red  fox,  coveys  of 
ruffed  grouse,  and  the  bob-white's  call  from  the  har- 
vested fields,  as  flocks  of  ducks,  head  shot  forward, 
swiftly  crossed  the  autumn  sky.  Gray  squirrels  vied 
with  the  little  bride  in  the  practising  of  housewifely 
economies;  and  when  she  and  Denneth  returned  from 
that  honeymoon  camp  to  enter  upon  their  life  in  a 
small  apartment  awaiting  them  in  Hampton,  Marjory 

164 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     165 

thought  there  was  only  one  possible  blot  upon  her 
happiness — and  she  felt  ashamed  of  that  thought  as 
soon  as  it  entered  her  mind.  Her  mother  was  to 
live  with  them! 

Months  passed,  and  that  lady,  having  been  forced 
to  accept  the  inevitable  on  the  day  of  the  wedding, 
which,  according  to  her,  should  have  been  solemnized 
midst  peacock-pluming  women  and  the  sound  of  paid 
musicians  rather  than  beneath  God's  open  sky  filled 
with  the  song  of  birds,  accomplished  very  little  mis- 
chief. In  fact,  even  she  found  it  difficult  to  mar  the 
perfect  happiness  of  the  boy  and  girl.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  discovered  that  it  was  well  nigh 
impossible  to  grumble  about  lack  of  luxuries,  so  unre- 
sponsive were  they  to  their  need,  and  honestly  tried 
in  her  injured  dignity  to  accept  her  necessary  home 
with  them  as  graciously  as  was  possible  for  one  of 
her  nature. 

With  Denneth's  promotion  in  the  bank,  his  pay  in- 
creased; but  the  strain  upon  his  eyes  grew  greater 
and  they  troubled  him  more  and  more.  The  strictest 
economy  was  necessary  to  maintain  the  little  flat; 
and  so  he  said  and  did  nothing  about  the  ever- 
increasing  difficulty  of  seeing  clearly.  In  spite  of  her 
mother's  subtle  hints  to  the  contrary,  Marjory  felt 
that  she  and  Denneth  were  blessed  far  beyond  their 
kind.  She  was  absolutely  happy. 

Thus  a  year  passed.  Mrs.  Matthews,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  maternal  duty  well  performed,  had  lavishly 
spent  her  full  year's  allowance  in  making  Marjory 
outwardly  the  charming  creature  that  the  false  ideals 
of  our  present  fashion-god  demand  of  a  bride,  leav- 
ing off  nothing,  in  fact,  except  the  spending  of 
thought,  advice  and  prayerful  helpfulness  with  which 
a  true  mother  trousseaus  her  mating  daughter  and 
prepares  her  to  meet  the  real  duties  of  life. 


166     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

During  that  first  winter  and  the  following  summer 
Denneth  felt  very  proud  of  his  exquisite,  handsomely 
gowned  little  wife;  and  therefore,  when  he  found  Mrs. 
Matthews  was  taking  Marjory  about  with  her  in  that 
part  of  Hampton  society  which  had  opened  a  very 
small  crack  in  its  Westmoreland  Street  door  to  let 
these  scions  of  Southern  nobility  peep  at  the  grandeur 
of  its  sumptuousness,  he  did  not  complain,  but  spent 
long  hours  wondering  how  he  could  manage  to  make 
more  money  so  that  Marjory  could  shine  in  surround- 
ings proper  for  such  as  she.  He  had  long  since  come 
to  believe,  with  many  another  young  American  hus- 
band, that  women's  luxuries  are  a  necessity. 

The  time  had  now  come  when  Marjory's  smart 
frocks  of  the  year  before  began  to  look  less  smart; 
and  desiring  to  replenish  them,  she  came  to  realize 
that  Denneth's  bank  account  was  painfully  limited. 
"What  would  people  say,"  her  mother's  bogey  always, 
once  more  dominated  her  thoughts!  Besides  her 
mother  constantly  reminded  her  of  the  might-have- 
beens,  until  Marjory's  happy  eyes  were  soon  critical 
of  all  that  was  hers,  and  her  face  clouded  instead  of 
smiled  when  her  husband  came  home.  She  had  made 
some  friends  among  Hampton's  wealthy  girls  and 
young  matrons;  and  now,  aided  and  abetted  by  com- 
plaints from  Mrs.  Matthews,  she  grew  more  and  more 
resentfully  conscious  of  her  lack  of  luxuries,  and  of 
Denneth's  financial  shortcomings.  In  the  passage  of  a 
whole  year,  she  thought  over  and  over  to  herself,  he 
certainly  should  have  managed  to  do  better  than  he 
had  done.  The  other  married  girls  she  knew  had 
twice  as  much  as  she!  The  little  apartment,  once 
bright  with  the  shine  of  brand-new  wedding  presents, 
now  took  on  a  small  and  shabby  look.  These  facts 
Mrs.  Matthews  often  hinted  none  too  gently  to  her 
son-in-law.  The  sunshine  that  had  promised  so  much 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     167 

for  the  couple  a  little  while  before  was  dimmed,  and 
the  clouds  began  to  thicken. 

Since  their  marriage  Stanley  Asquith  had  been  a 
more  or  less  frequent  visitor  in  the  little  home,  for 
Marjory's  and  Denneth's  happiness  meant  much  to  his 
lonely  heart.  They  openly  recognized  him  as  the  per- 
son who  had  brought  them  together;  and  in  conse- 
quence made  him  feel  more  welcome  in  their  tiny  rooms 
than  he  had  ever  felt  anywhere  else.  Denneth  was 
more  sure  of  their  unacknowledged  kinship  each  day, 
and  each  day  that  he  slowly  climbed  the  ladder  of  suc- 
cess in  the  bank  he  resolved  to  tell  Mr.  Asquith  his 
entire  history.  But  each  day  courage  failed  him.  So 
burned  and  scarred  into  the  soul  of  a  convict  are  his 
stripes,  that  if  he  ever  again  is  counted  of  moment  by 
the  unsuspecting  world,  he  would  rather  die  than  vol- 
untarily admit  his  past !  And  this  Denneth  had  begun 
to  feel.  Yet,  he  argued,  those  who  have  suffered  phys- 
ical sickness  and  have  been  committed  to  a  hospital 
do  not  hesitate  to  speak  of  the  fact.  They  receive 
sympathy,  not  condemnation.  Again  his  old  argu- 
ments, indulged  in  in  prison,  returned  to  embitter  his 
mind,  and  he  found  he  was  weakening  in  his  resolve  to 
tell  his  story.  Moreover,  his  eyes  grew  more  dim, 
though  with  no  outward  sign  of  their  failing,  and  he 
dreaded  the  day  which  he  felt  would  surely  come  when 
he  could  be  of  no  further  use  to  this  man  who  had  so 
befriended  him.  Yet  tell  him  he  simply  must!  The 
fact  that  he  had  for  so  long  deceived  him  tormented 
him,  and  he  now  began  to  realize  that  he  could 
know  no  peace  until  he  stood  before  him  in  his  true 
light.  He  feared  that  the  disclosure  of  his  criminal 
past  might  rob  him  of  Stanley  Asquith's  friendship. 
He  felt  positive  that  by  this  disclosure  he  would  for- 
feit his  position  in  the  bank.  For  Marjory's  sake, 
therefore,  he  hated  to  do  it ;  but,  in  true  keeping  with 


168     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

his  better  nature,  it  had  grown  impossible  for  him 
longer  to  practice  deception  upon  this  man. 

So  going  into  Stanley's  private  office  early  one 
morning  he  closed  the  door  and,  facing  him,  he  said, 
in  a  voice  which  he  strove  hard  to  make  natural: 

"Mr.  Asquith,  I've  come  to  tell  you  something." 

"Yes,  Denneth,"  Stanley  Asquith  said,  busily  writ- 
ing, only  glancing  up  long  enough  to  nod. 

"I  have  been  deceiving  you  for  nearly  a  year!  Do 
you  see  these?"  and  he  touched  his  thickened  glasses, 
while  his  voice  broke  in  spite  of  his  endeavor  to  con- 
trol it.  "I  have  to  wear  these  because  of  eight  months 
spent  in  an  underground  cell  as  a  convict  in  State's 
Prison,"  and  then  pouring  from  his  lips  there  came 
in  a  torrent  of  self-abnegation  the  whole  of  his  mis- 
erable story — all  that  had  gone  before  his  imprison- 
ment, and  that  which  had  followed. 

Stanley  Asquith  sat  dumb,  his  lips  tightly  com- 
pressed. Bitter  and  grievous  disappointment  filled  his 
heart.  He  could  not  speak.  Denneth  had  deceived 
him — had  not  trusted  him  enough  to  disclose  to  him 
his  past.  Denneth,  whom  he  had  thought  so  manly, 
was  a  coward  and  distinctly  unmanly!  He  had  ac- 
cepted his  friendship  and  aid,  had  even  married  little 
Marjory,  without  confiding  to  him  his  secret.  In  all 
his  life  Stanley  had  never  been  so  bitterly  disappointed 
in  any  one! 

Denneth  had  ceased  speaking,  and  standing  before 
him  waited  in  dread  for  his  verdict.  With  every  bit 
of  love  and  loyalty  in  his  affectionate  nature  he  longed 
to  say  something  to  show  this  man  how  he  felt  toward 
him.  Even  now  for  his  sake  he  had  purposely  with- 
held his  real  name;  nor  did  he  let  slip  anything  about 
his  father  which  might  give  Stanley  a  clue  as  to  their 
relationship.  Partly  through  loyalty  to  his  mother 
and  partly  because  he  did  not  want  to  cause  this  man 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    169 

any  further  pain  or  embarrassment,  he  thought  it  best 
not  to  impart  to  him  his  discovery.  Yet  he  earnestly 
wished  to  tell  him  everything  and  to  claim  him  as  his 
brother. 

Stanley  still  sat  silent,  no  words  as  yet  having 
passed  his  lips.  He  must  not  be  hasty,  he  thought. 
In  no  way  must  he  convey  to  this  young  man  the  idea 
that  he  did  not  trust  him  now  just  as  much  and  as 
readily  as  he  had  before.  He  believed  that  no  man 
can  be  really  helped  unless  he  is  trusted  implicitly  by 
his  helper.  Denneth  Richardson  was  a  splendid  young 
fellow.  In  spite  of  his  past,  he  would  succeed;  his 
ability  and  conscientious  work  in  the  bank  had  proved 
that  possibility  beyond  a  doubt.  Yet  he  had  deceived 
him 

Slowly  Denneth' s  face  had  been  growing  white,  and 
as  Stanley  Asquith's  unbroken  silence  continued,  a  look 
of  hurt  had  at  first  passed  over  it  which  seemed  to 
blot  out  all  its  virility;  then  throwing  his  head  back 
his  features  hardened,  his  eyes  darted  defiance.  The 
man  he  had  thought  was  his  friend  was  evidently 
like  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  could  not  under- 
stand or  forgive  him.  Well,  there  was  only  one  thing 
to  do  under  the  circumstances. 

"Of  course  I  offer  you  my  resignation.  No  bank 
president  cares  to  trust  an  ex-convict,"  and  into  his 
voice  there  had  stolen  the  old  bitterness.  Then  with- 
out even  glancing  toward  his  friend  he  opened  the 
door  and  left  the  room. 

Stanley  Asquith  jumped  up.  "Denneth!"  he  called, 
striding  to  the  door.  Into  his  tone  he  managed  to 
throw  all  the  love  and  respect  which  had  been  grow- 
ing in  his  heart  for  the  young  man  ever  since  the  first 
night  of  their  meeting.  "Come  back!" 

Denneth  slowly  turned  an  astonished  face  toward 
him,  then  without  speaking  followed  Stanley  back 


170     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

into  the  office.  Stanley  closed  the  door,  and  with 
his  back  against  it,  faced  him. 

"Do  not  think,"  he  said,  speaking  slowly  and  choos- 
ing each  word  with  care,  "that  what  you  have  told 
me  will  make  any  difference.  It  will  not.  I  trust 
you." 

Quick  tears  sprang  to  Denneth's  eyes,  and  his  very 
soul  was  displayed  in  the  loyalty  of  his  gaze  as  he 
looked  at  the  other  man. 

"It  is  the  fact  that  you  did  not  tell  me  before 
that  makes  the  difference." 

Denneth  winced,  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  and  then 
only  stared  as  Stanley  went  on: 

"You  should  not  have  deceived  me.  I  trusted  you 
and  you  should  have  trusted  me.  When  I  offered 
you  employment  I  was  entitled  to  know  then  what  you 
have  now  told  me.  I  think,  though,  I  understand  bet- 
ter than  you  suspect  the  strength  of  the  temptation  to 
which  you  yielded;  and  now  that  you  have  told  me — 
well,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  upon  Denneth's  shoulder, 
"the  best  thing  for  both  of  us  is  to  forget  the  past 
and  start  all  over  again.  My  boy,  your  position  in 
the  bank  is  yours  as  long  as  you  want  it  and  live  as 
you  have  lived  since  I  have  known  you." 

Then  before  Denneth  could  control  his  emotion  suffi- 
ciently to  speak,  Stanley  asked  abruptly : 

"Does  Marjory  know  what  you  have  told  me?" 

Again  self-loathing  gripped  Denneth. 

How  keenly  he  felt  the  cowardice  of  his  action 
in  marrying  her  without  first  disclosing  his  past.  For 
a  long  time  he  had  reproached  himself  for  it!  If 
only  there  was  something  he  might  do  by  way  of 
atonement;  yet  he  knew  there  was  nothing  he  could 
ever  do  that  could  remedy  the  wrong  done  her.  It 
was  as  irrevocable  as  were  his  past  crimes.  He  shook 
his  head. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     171 

"No,  she  knows  nothing,"  he  answered. 

To  his  surprise,  Stanley  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  but 
quickly  said :  "Of  course,  you  realize  how  repre- 
hensible such  deception  is?" 

Denneth  nodded  in  silent  distress. 

"Nevertheless,  knowing  and  loving  little  Marjory 
as  I  do,  I  think  it  would  be  better  now  that  you  never 
tell  her!" 

"But,  Mr.  Asquith,"  Denneth  broke  in 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  want  to  say;  but  it's  too 
late  now.  It  would  distress  her  and  do  no  good;  and 
as  to  yourself,  it  would  be  selfish  to  tell  her  for  the 
mere  satisfying  of  your  own  awakened  conscience.  You 
have  told  me.  That  is  enough.  Let  it  stop  there." 
Then  looking  Denneth  deep  in  the  eyes,  he  said  im- 
pressively : 

"I  believe  it  is  in  you  to  make  her  so  good  and 
true  a  husband — to  become  so  good  and  true  a  man 
yourself — that  this  past  of  which  you  have  told  me 
will  count  for  little  in  comparison  with  the  rest  of 
your  life.  It  is  futures,  not  pasts,  that  I  believe  in, 
Denneth,  and  the  future  awaits  you  to  make  of  it  ex- 
actly what  you  choose!  So  go  back  to  your  work — 
and  forget  everything  else." 

With  a  conscience  lighter  than  it  had  been  for  many 
months  Denneth  now  felt  that  the  troubles  in  his  little 
home  must  surely  disappear  too.  But  in  spite  of  this 
hopeful  feeling,  and  his  constant  endeavors  to  make 
Marjory  happy,  day  by  day  things  grew  more  dark. 
Then  one  day  the  impossible  happened !  He  and  Mar- 
jory quarreled.  She  had  asked  him  for  more  than 
he  could  possibly  give  her — his  eyes  had  been  partic- 
ularly painful  that  day — and  Mrs.  Matthews,  throw- 
ing herself  into  the  breach,  in  cruelly  chosen  words 
declined  to  believe  that  he  was  unable  to  give  her 
"delicately  nurtured  flower — her  dear  little  love — 


172     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

life's  necessary  luxuries !  What  did  he  suppose  people 
were  saying,  anyway,  about  the  economical  way  in 
which  he  made  them  live!" 

From  that  time  on  more  complaints  than  loving 
words  filled  Denneth's  ears  at  the  morning  and  even- 
ing hours,  and  though  often  a  penitent,  moist  Mar- 
jory crawled  up  into  his  arms  to  "bawl  her  eyes  out 
because  she  had  been  unreasonable — even  if  other 
girls  did  have  all  the  pretty  things  and  she  had  none," 
he  began  to  dread  his  homecoming.  Tired  and  dis- 
couraged, he  wondered  whether  it  could  be  his  fault? 

Ever  the  dimness  grew  in  his  vision  and  troubled 
him  sorely.  He  must  see  an  oculist,  he  decided  anew 
each  day.  Yet  at  the  thought  of  it  a  fear  possessed 
him,  a  dark  feeling  of  premonition. 

Finally,  after  just  such  a  scene  of  weeping  wife 
and  meddlesome  mother-in-law,  when  he  had  at  last 
consulted  an  oculist  who  gave  him  very  bad  news 
indeed,  a  doctor  had  to  be  called  in  to  Marjory.  Hys- 
terically she  told  him  of  how  ill  she  felt,  and  learned 
from  the  professional  lips  that  the  brightest  crown  of 
womanhood  was  to  be  hers  in  six  months  or  so! 

On  hearing  the  news  Denneth's  soul  bowed  in  awe 
before  her.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  felt  so  reverent 
of  all  things,  so  worshipful  of  the  ways  of  his  Maker ! 
Fortunately  he  had  withheld  the  news  of  the  rapid  fail- 
ing of  his  eyes,  caused,  as  the  oculist  told  him,  by 
atrophy  of  the  optic  nerve;  and  now,  elated  at  the 
thought  of  the  coming  happiness,  he  forgot  the  worry 
of  it  all  and  what  it  would  mean  in  connection  with 
his  future.  His  heart  soared! 

He  tried  to  gather  little  Marjory  up  in  his  arms; 
but  flinging  away  from  him  she  said  things  that  made 
him  aware  that  she  did  not  feel  as  he  did  about  this 
wondrous  promise  for  their  future.  It  was  a  hor- 
rible, sickening  shock  to  him!  In  his  idealism  and 


right  thinking,  which  had  been  wrought  in  him  partly 
because  of  his  knowledge  of  the  creatures  of  the  wild, 
uncontaminated  by  man  and  his  domestic  beasts,  Den- 
neth  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  that  any 
woman  willing  to  be  wife  would  be  unwilling  to  be 
mother. 

Sobbing,  Marjory  threw  herself  into  her  mother's 
arms,  and  there  held  close,  listened  while  this  worldly 
matron  sympathized  with  her,  openly  complaining  that 
"The  dear  little  love  needed  new  clothes  and  a  decent 
place  to  live  in,  and  now  this  bad  luck  had  befallen  her ! 
No  wonder  people  were  talking!" 

Petrified,  dumb,  shocked  beyond  all  words,  Denneth 
saw  his  idol  crash  to  earth  before  him,  and  realized 
that  for  Marjory  at  least  the  consummation  of  their 
union  had  not  been  sanctified  by  the  sacred  trust  that 
God  had  reposed  in  them  for  the  sake  of  posterity. 

Without  a  word  he  went  from  Marjory's  foolish, 
lacy-pink  boudoir  and  left  the  house.  The  night  was 
stormy.  Great  ominous  clouds  banked  themselves  in 
the  east  and  hid  the  moon.  His  head  ached.  His  poor 
eyes  smarted.  His  hands  rammed  deep  into  his  pock- 
ets, his  hat  jambed  down  over  his  eyes,  he  strode 
recklessly  on.  Hardly  had  he  rounded  the  corner  when 
a  man,  running,  bumped  into  him,  then  seeing  who  he 
was,  gasped  out: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Richardson,  excuse  me,  sir,  but  'e's  hun- 
conscious,  sir.  I  fetched  a  doctor  in,  but  'e  said  to 
tell  you  to  come,"  and  the  deliverer  of  this  message 
dropped  respectfully  behind,  while  with  many  ques- 
tions Denneth  hurried  on  to  the  apartment  where 
Stanley  Asquith  lay  ill. 

It  seemed  to  Denneth  that  the  world  was  surely 
coming  to  an  end !  The  night  was  so  black  that  save 
for  the  feel  of  the  fresh  air  on  his  cheeks  and  the 
occasional  lights  of  the  streets  he  might  have  been  back 


174    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

in  his  underground  cell.  He  shivered  with  the  recol- 
lection which  until  lately  had  been  almost  erased  from 
his  mind. 

Anxiously  he  opened  the  door  of  Mr.  Asquith's 
room;  but  too  late.  Death  had  entered  first. 

Stanley  Asquith,  taken  with  a  heart  attack  caused 
by  a  chronic  condition  which  had  existed  for  many 
years,  lay  very  still  and  white  upon  the  bed,  his  lips 
parted  in  a  benevolent  smile  that  lent  to  his  face  a 
look  of  "light  past  all  understanding." 

The  next  day  the  news  of  his  sudden  death  startled 
the  whole  city  of  Hampton,  and  for  the  few  days  be- 
fore he  was  forgotten  it  mourned.  This  man  with  a 
spirit  that  feared  no  one  and  believed  that  every  one, 
if  given  a  fair  chance,  had  his  share  of  good  as  well 
as  of  bad,  had  become  much  beloved  in  that  city. 

The  bank  in  which  Denneth  worked  soon  changed 
hands,  and  under  the  management  of  the  new  regime 
he  felt  constrained  and  ill  at  ease.  Each  day  now  he 
went  to  the  oculist,  who  gave  him  more  and  more 
alarming  news.  However,  conditions  in  his  little  flat 
had  slightly  improved ;  and  though  Mrs.  Matthews  and 
Marjory  both  talked  in  what  was,  according  to  his 
ideas  at  least,  a  flippant  way  about  the  event  to  come, 
Marjory  was  now  more  like  her  girlish  self.  But 
when  an  idol  has  been  rudely  torn  from  its  pedestal  it 
can  never  attain  the  same  heights  again;  and  so, 
though  Denneth  forgave  her  the  scene  which  had  so 
shocked  and  embittered  him,  even  excusing  it  because 
of  her  youth  and  frivolous  mind,  there  was,  neverthe- 
less, a  not-to-be-forgotten  barrier  between  them.  He 
knew  that  it  was  her  lack  of  training  to  look  at  life 
from  a  high  plane  that  had  made  her  act  as  she 
did;  but  even  now  her  attitude  caused  Denneth  much 
unhappiness,  for  she  resorted  more  and  more  to  her 
mother's  companionship,  that  lady  seeming  to  have 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     175 

regained  the  old  ascendency  over  her.  Manlike,  he 
was  unable  to  stand  up  against  their  attack  upon  him. 
In  weakness,  which  he  termed  devotion,  he  thought 
now  only  of  the  pain  through  which  his  little  wife 
must  needs  pass  to  give  him  the  son  he  longed  for; 
and  under  the  influence  of  this  thought  he  could  deny 
her  nothing.  He  deliberately  turned  his  back  upon 
prudence,  generously  and  recklessly  responded  to  their 
call  for  more  money  to  spend,  and  ever  hoped,  in  his 
masculine  ignorance,  that  things  would  become  more 
normal  and  that  the  extra  expenses  would  stop  after 
the  first  few  months  were  over.  Too,  though  Marjory 
had  disappointed  him,  he  loved  her  with  every  fiber 
of  his  being;  and  though  he  knew  now  that  she  was 
not  as  perfect  as  he  had  at  first  thought,  he  never- 
theless, in  spite  of  this  knowledge,  endowed  her  with 
every  grace  which  his  idealistic  nature  could  conceive. 
Giving  no  thought  to  the  welfare  of  the  precious 
soul  which  was  about  to  come  into  the  world,  Mar- 
jory and  her  light-minded  mother  spent  their  time 
planning  for  the  bedecking  of  its  little  body.  Frills 
and  soft  laces,  hand-seams  and  daintiness  upon  the  tiny 
garments,  took  up  their  whole  attention.  Many  women 
sew  only  love  into  such  things,  and  thereby  make 
them  beautiful  offerings  of  motherhood.  But  not  so 
Marjory  and  her  mother.  Their  whole  idea  was  that 
of  the  unalloyed  vanity  which  had  always  filled  Mrs. 
Matthews's  life.  Marjory  was  determined  that  her 
baby  should  be  as  well  dressed  as  her  friends'  babies! 
No  thought  of  the  sacredness  of  God's  gift  to  her  ever 
once  entered  her  mind,  but  like  so  many  other  young 
mothers  she  thought  solely  of  the  material  side  of  it 
all.  She  wholly  failed  to  appreciate  how  her  thoughts 
might  be  making  their  impression  upon  the  plastic  little 
brain  now  forming;  nor  did  she  realize  that  if  she 
dwelt  on  high  and  noble  things  she  would  be  helping 


176     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

to  prepare  her  child  to  meet  the  struggles  and  tempta- 
tions that  must  be  met  by  all  earth-bound  souls. 

When  a  seed  sown  among  shadows  and  thorns  with 
no  sun  to  bless  it  and  make  it  flower  into  perfect  beauty 
grows  up  into  a  weak,  stunted  plant,  we,  as  gardeners, 
are  not  surprised.  We  do  not  blame  the  plant.  But 
when  earthly  soul-seeds  grow  into  dwarfed  maturity 
because  they  have  not  received  the  sun  of  prenatal 
love,  we  are  apt  to  blame  fate — not  the  parents  who 
have  planted  this  precious  seed  and  allowed  it  to  de- 
velop in  the  shadows  of  thoughtlessness.  Thus  do  we 
continually  wait  later  than  is  necessary  to  help  the 
race  onward. 

Denneth  saw  less  and  less  of  his  wife  as  the  weeks 
went  by,  for  she  and  her  mother  were  always  dis- 
cussing things  "a  mere  man  couldn't  possibly  under- 
stand." They  selfishly  walled  him  out  of  their  lives, 
thoughtlessly  making  of  Marjory's  condition  an  ex- 
cuse to  leave  him  lonely. 

It  was  just  at  this  juncture  that  Denneth's  former 
partner  Sam  Simmons  showed  up,  much  the  worse  for 
wear.  His  "old  gal"  had  died,  and  he  had  had  to  "tie 
the  kids'  hoofs  and  express  them  to  the  cold  storage" 
(meaning  the  Industrial  Home).  Sam,  with  no  good 
influences  at  work,  had  then  resorted  to  his  treacherous 
friend  the  "jag  jug"  for  comfort  and  strength.  Glad 
of  a  chance  to  help  this  fellow,  who,  in  spite  of  his 
dishonesty,  was  an  honest  friend,  Denneth  secured 
him  lodgings,  and  made  him  promise  to  sober  up  and 
go  to  work.  Besides,  though  Denneth  did  not  admit 
it  to  himself,  their  secret  companionship  which  fol- 
lowed was  a  source  of  pleasure  in  his  lonely  life,  for 
he  believed  Sam  possessed  more  good  than  evil  in  his 
make-up. 

True  to  his  ability  to  follow  his  leader,  Sam  had 
shown  Denneth  his  gratitude  by  keeping  his  job  and 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    177 

"walking  the  heavenly  tight  rope,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

During  all  this  time  Denneth's  eyes  were  growing 
steadily  worse.  He  longed  to  tell  Marjory  about  it, 
longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  tell  her  all — his  past 
as  well  as  his  present.  The  strength  of  her  love  would 
mean  so  much  of  comfort  to  him.  But  though  sev- 
eral times  he  started  to  do  so,  he  either  felt  that  in 
her  present  mood  the  sympathy  he  craved  would  not 
be  forthcoming,  and  so  once  more  deferred  his  revela- 
tions, which  in  any  event  must  be  a  shock  to  her,  or 
oftener  still  her  mother  would  come  in  to  upset  things. 
So  after  a  slight  struggle  with  his  conscience  he  let 
the  matter  drop  with  an  ever-present  sinking  of  his 
heart  and  a  feeling  of  utter  uselessness. 

The  men  under  whom  he  now  worked  in  the  bank 
had  no  personal  interest  in  him,  and  he  felt  ever  more 
keenly  the  great  loss  of  Stanley  Asquith's  friendship. 
A  loneliness  began  to  settle  down  upon  him,  broken 
only  by  his  occasional  glimpse  of  Sam,  who  he  often 
thought  was  the  only  person  who  really  loved  him  for 
himself.  The  old  bitterness  against  life  and  its  in- 
justice returned. 

To  make  matters  worse,  Marjory  and  her  mother 
were  daily  growing  more  unreasonable.  Weeping  and 
wailing,  Marjory  often  flung  herself  into  her  mother's 
arms  and,  accusing  him  of  not  caring,  not  trying  to 
make  money  enough  to  give  her  what  she  needed  in 
her  present  condition,  drove  him  in  despair  from  the 
little  flat  to  take  refuge  in  Sam  Simmons's  company. 
Her  desire  for  luxuries  had  grown  amazingly  the 
last  few  months.  It  was  insatiable — had  become  an 
obsession  with  her;  and  her  mother,  being  by  nature 
a  parasite,  had  felt  pleased  to  see  Marjory  "standing 
up  for  her  rights!" 

One  spring  morning,  when  a  whiff  of  budding  things 
had  heartened  him  a  little,  he  received  a  new  and 


178     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

crushing  blow.  Marjory's  pouting,  spoiled  face  had 
been  turned  away  from  him  as  he  attempted  to  kiss 
her  good-bye  before  leaving  for  business!  Hurt  far 
beyond  words,  he  left  in  silence  and  went  to  see  the 
oculist.  That  gentleman,  in  a  pleasant,  conversational 
tone  that  often  covers  deep  feeling  in  such  men  as  he, 
told  Denneth  that  his  left  eye  would  live  less  than 
six  months,  and  that  the  right  one  was  in  danger  un- 
less given  the  most  careful  attention. 

After  hearing  this  news  Denneth  walked  on  in  a 
daze  to  the  bank,  and  entering  his  cage  shut  his  door, 
vaguely  wondering  what  he  could  do  to  provide  for 
Marjory's  future. 

That  very  morning  the  bank  had  acquired,  through 
its  new  president,  a  number  of  large  corporation  de- 
posits. The  money  had  arrived  in  big  bundles  of 
bills.  Throughout  that  entire  day  as  he  sat  counting 
this  money  he  longed  as  he  had  never  longed  before 
to  give  Marjory  everything  she  craved. 

Finally,  when  the  counting  and  sorting  was  done, 
and  his  assistant  had  gone  home,  his  eyes  glued  them- 
selves on  the  packages  of  bills  stacked  so  temptingly 
about  him.  Banking  hours  were  over,  and  he  was  en- 
tirely alone  in  his  high-ceilinged  gilt  cage. 

Marjory's  face  smiled.  She  held  out  her  arms  to 
him,  she  pleaded  for  the  material  good  things  of  life ! 
And  then  suddenly  his  difficulties  seemed  all  over  for- 
ever. What  did  it  matter  if  he  did  abuse  his  trust? 
What  did  his  resolution  to  "go  straight"  matter  in 
comparison  with  Marjory's  comfort  and  happiness! 
Her  happiness  was  far  more  important  than  anything 
else!  If  the  oculist  was  correct,  he  would  soon  be 
useless  anyway.  He  ground  his  teeth  together  at  the 
reflection  that  his  present  and  future  suffering  were 
caused  by  the  injustice  of  the  law.  His  old  bitter 
determination  to  get  even  again  assailed  him,  brought 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     179 

on  this  time  by  his  desire  to  please  Marjory.  His 
fingers  went  out  toward  the  bills. 

At  this  Marjory's  face  seemed  to  come  closer  to  his, 
rosy  and  happy.  She  was  all  dimples.  Her  eyes 
had  lost  their  tired  look,  and  she  smiled  at  him  just 
as  she  had  smiled  during  that  first  summer  among  the 
flowering  woods.  He  saw  her  surrounded  by  com- 
forts and  luxuries  that  seemed  fitting  to  her  dainty 
beauty 

QuickC  he  slipped  several  bills  of  a  very  large  de- 
nomination from  the  middle  of  the  bundle  just  beneath 
his  hand,  and  in  their  place  substituted  an  equally  thick 
package  of  smaller  ones.  This  accomplished,  he  gath- 
ered up  the  bundles,  summoned  a  clerk  from  another 
department  to  go  with  him,  and  they  put  the  money 
into  the  safe  and  Denneth  left  the  bank. 

That  evening  there  was  great  rejoicing  in  the  little 
flat.  He  had  had  a  raise  in  salary!  Many  eagles  in 
the  form  of  roses  and  such  luxuries  were  screaming 
his  guilt  at  him  from  every  point  toward  which  he 
looked;  but,  smiling  and  happy,  Marjory  cuddled  up 
in  his  arms,  the  locket  of  queer  design  swinging  hap- 
pily upon  her  neck.  Too,  another  blessing  came  to 
Denneth  as  if  summoned  up  by  his  determination  to 
wrest  some  small  moments  of  happiness  from  fate  be- 
fore the  curtain  of  eternal  night  descended  upon  him. 
That  very  day  his  mother-in-law  had  been  called  away 
from  him  and  her  "dear  little  love"  by  a  tobacco- 
cudded  magistrate  of  the  Southern  town  where  she 
had  lived.  Between  chews  this  active  gentleman-of- 
leisure  had  shown  one  of  the  Matthews's  aristocratic, 
but  stony,  billy-goat-recreation  fields,  to  a  shrewd  min- 
ing engineer.  The  expert  suspected  that  minerals  in 
paying  quantities  held  squatters'  rights  superior  to  the 
goats',  and  so  Mrs.  Matthews,  with  the  air  of  millions 
already  hers,  had  majestically  flown  to  the  spot  and 


180    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

left  Denneth  alone  with  Marjory  for  the  first  time 
since  their  honeymoon. 

For  Marjory  the  flat  was  once  more  a  blissful  bower 
because  of  her  self-satisfied  happiness,  believing  as  she 
did  that  the  bills  Denneth  had  given  her  were  the 
result  of  his  added  affluence.  But  for  Denneth  a  moun- 
tainous cloud,  black  with  memory  and  blacker  still 
with  apprehension  of  what  the  future  held  for  him, 
overshadowed  everything.  The  soft  spring  air  which 
blew  in  at  their  windows  turned  him  sick,  for  in 
sharp  contrast  his  imagination  caused  him  to  smell 
anew  the  deadly  stale  stench  of  his  old  underground 
cell.  The  bright  lights  of  the  little  sitting-room  smote 
upon  his  sight,  and  closing  his  eyes  he  shuddered  as 
the  oculist's  words  screamed  their  way  through  his 
brain,  accompanied  by  the  undercurrent  of  Marjory's 
light,  inconsequential  tones.  Yet  he  held  her  close  in 
his  arms — and  waited. 

Then  with  a  flash  he  saw  clearly  that  there  was  an 
easier  way.  His  muscles  tensed  themselves  momen- 
tarily at  the  thought.  He  smiled  bitterly.  It  were 
better  so. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DOWN  a  small,  crooked  street  of  one  of  Hampton's 
poorer  districts  Denneth  walked  briskly,  peering  up  at 
the  numbers  on  the  doors  of  the  dilapidated  lodging 
houses,  which,  as  colonial  mansions,  had  housed  many 
heroes  of  Revolutionary  days.  Finally  he  entered  an 
unpainted  doorway  and  climbed  the  rickety,  dim-lit 
stairs. 

Giving  his  usual  signal  of  three  gentle  taps  fol- 
lowed by  a  knock  upon  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
it  opened  wide  enough  for  him  to  see  Sam  Simmons's 
face  peering  out  at  him;  and  pushing  it  further  open, 
Denneth  entered. 

"Gee,  pal,"  Sam  exclaimed,  "it's  glad  my  sky-blue 
optics  is  to  peep  you !  But  say,"  and  he  shoved  for- 
ward the  remains  of  a  chair,  "I'm  thankful,  I  am,  that 
I  ain't  a  giraffe.  Law  man!  I'm  thirsty  a  mile  deep, 
believe  me!  Can't  I  pull  the  cork — blow  the  foam — 
take  a  swig,  in  plain  American?  A  reservoir  gone 
dry  ain't  in  it  with  yours  truly!  Just  one  little  tee- 
totaller palate  washer,  pal,"  he  begged  like  a  hungry 
child. 

"No,"  Denneth  said  shortly.  "You  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  one  drink  for  you  means  that  you  would 
soon  'be  like  the  bed  of  the  deep-blue  sea  for  the 
amount  of  liquid  in  you/  in  your  own  words.  Besides, 
I've  got  an  important  job  for  you." 

"But  I've  lost  my  taste  for  jobs,  pal,"  Sam  broke 
in  dejectedly.  "I've  worked  so  hard  and  honest  since 
you  piped  me  here  that  I  feel  like  me  mother  wuz  a 
society  dude  and  me  father  an  employment  bureau, 
believe  me!  There  ain't  no  high  spots — no  Ferris 
wheels — no  lofty  views — no  excitement  in  life,"  he 

181 


182     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

translated  himself,  "since  me  poor  remains  was  picked 
up  by  the  water  wagon  and  I  become  the  victim  of 
honest  labor." 

"But  this  job  is  for  me,  and  it  isn't —  Well,  in 
your  language,  old  man,  it  isn't  exactly  what  you  would 
call  'passing  the  hat  for  foreign  missions' !" 

"What!"  Sam  said,  losing  his  dejected  slouch  and 
sitting  bolt  upright  in  his  interest.  "You  ain't  busted 
away  from  the  mothers'  meetin' — left  the  fold  of  the 
innocent  lambs — cooked  up  something  that  a  real  man 
finds  no  cinch,  have  you?" 

"Yes,"  Denneth  answered  desperately. 

"Thank  Gawd!"  Sam  burst  out  with  a  sense  of  real 
gratitude  as  he  hitched  his  chair  forward  nearer  that 
of  his  friend.  "Unmuzzle,  Sonny — turn  on  your  music 
box,  uncoil  your  fire  hose — spit  out  your  news,  in  plain 
American,"  he  said  in  excited  interest. 

For  a  moment  Denneth  Richardson  tramped  the 
floor,  his  brows  drawn  together  in  a  deep  frown.  Sud- 
denly the  flame-like  zig-zags  shot  up  bewilderingly  be- 
fore hig  eyes  and  he  put  his  hand  over  them,  steadying 
himself  against  the  wall.  The  oculist  had  told  him  that 
the  sight  of  his  left  eye  would  leave  him  absolutely 
some  day  after  one  of  these  attacks ;  and  Denneth  felt 
now,  in  the  horror  of  his  pain-stabbing  agony,  that  the 
time  had  doubtless  come. 

Removing  his  hand,  however,  he  discovered  Sam's 
smelling  lamp  was  still  faintly  aglow  for  him,  and  knew 
that  the  worst  had  not  yet  happened. 

"It's  this  way,  Sam,"  he  said  dully,  the  weeks  of 
misery  that  Marjory  and  her  mother  had  caused  him 
making  him  feel  now  as  if  all  emotion  was  over  for 
him  forever,  "I  can't  make  it,  old  man !  my — my " 

He  wanted  desperately  to  tell  Sam  about  his  eyes, 
but  somehow  he  could  not  speak  of  that  terror  to  any 
one.  It  is  characteristic  of  those  who  are  soon  to  be 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     183 

prisoners  in  the  Land  of  Eternal  Night  that  they  will 
not  voluntarily  admit  the  fact;  and  so  he  broke  off 
to  continue  along  another  line. 

"Well,  I  just  can't  make  it,  that's  all,  old  man.  I 
have  fallen  down — failed." 

Sam  waited  silently  for  the  story  he  felt  was  forth- 
coming, but  Denneth  was  buried  in  thought,  and  for 
several  moments  said  nothing.  It  was  hard  to  tell 
Sam.  Somehow  the  thing  he  had  done,  wrong  though 
he  knew  it  to  be,  seemed  almost  right  in  the  distorted 
light  of  his  mental  and  physical  suffering;  and  the 
knowledge  that  had  he  not  done  it  he  would  have 
lived  only  to  become  a  burden  to  Marjory,  seemed 
to  him  largely  to  excuse  it.  His  unborn  son  would 
be  better  off  with  money  enough  for  support  and  with- 
out a  blind  father,  he  had  argued.  He  felt  no  re- 
morse because  of  his  theft;  and  yet  he  hated  to  tell 
Sam  of  it.  -He  had  hoped  to  make  a  better  man  of 
Sam,  and  here  he  was  deliberately  pulling  him,  as  well 
as  himself,  down  again! 

After  Marjory's  satisfied  caresses  of  the  evening  on 
which  he  had  given  her  evidence  of  his  improved  cir- 
cumstances Denneth  had  left  her,  saying  his  increased 
responsibility  in  the  bank  made  it  necessary  for  him 
to  be  there;  and  taking  the  trolley  to  the  city's  out- 
skirts he  had  tramped  the  woods  as  was  his  custom 
when  under  mental  stress,  trying  to  fight  the  thing 
out,  yet  persuaded  in  his  innermost  consciousness  that 
he  had  done  the  only  thing  he  could  do  under  the 
circumstances,  never  really  doubting  that  he  would  see 
the  thing  through  exactly  as  he  had  planned. 

The  next  day  he  had  worked  all  day  at  the  bank; 
but  his  thoughts  were  ever  busy  planning  how  he  could 
keep  the  money  safe  for  Marjory  and  her  child.  It 
was  during  these  hours  that  he  thought  out  and  wrote 
the  note  he  would  leave  for  her.  By  wire  he  ar- 


184     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ranged  for  her  room  in  one  of  the  best  of  New  York's 
private  hospitals.  She  should  be  safe  from  the  news 
and  far  from  the  place  of  his  disgrace — his  little  son 
should  never  know  the  kind  of  father  he  had  had. 
To  the  last  detail  Denneth  Richardson  worked  out  his 
plan  for  the  protection  of  these  two  he  loved,  and 
explained  it  all  to  Marjory  in  an  affectionate  note 
which  bore  not  one  trace  of  his  suffering  or  distress. 
,  Sam,  he  decided,  was  the  only  one  to  whom  he  could 
trust  the  sacred  commission  of  attending  to  the  money 
and  delivering  the  note.  Of  course  the  sooner  he  saw 
Sam,  then  disappeared,  the  better.  Any  moment  now 
his  theft  might  be  discovered.  Yet,  try  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  but  long  for  and  take  more  happy  hours 
with  Marjory;  and  so  he  kept  putting  the  matter  off. 
Finally,  however,  the  day  came  which  he  knew  must 
be  his  last  at  home.  Clinging  to  Marjory  he  told  her 
good-bye,  explaining  his  going  as  a  business  trip  of  a 
few  days'  duration;  so  that  when  he  left  the  bank 
the  following  evening  he  did  not  go  home  at  all,  but 
had  gone  straight  to  Sam's  dilapidated  lodgings.  He 
admitted  freely  to  himself  now  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  before  his  rough  companion,  that  his  theft  of 
the  bills  had  proved  his  real  cowardice  beyond  ques- 
tion. He  knew  deep  down  in  his  heart  that  it  was 
pure,  unadulterated  weakness  on  his  part  to  have  taken 
the  money;  and  yet  somehow  the  admission  of  cow- 
ardice did  not  trouble  him.  He  simply  accepted  it  as 
he  had  accepted  all  the  other  unpleasant  features  of 
his  unhappy  life.  Of  course,  if  he  had  had  his  choice 
in  the  matter,  his  reason  argued,  he  would  not  have 
chosen  cowardice  in  any  form  as  a  trait  of  his  char- 
acter; but  the  days  of  his  father's  tyranny,  and  the 
unfair  days  of  his  torment  in  prison,  had  been  his 
only  training  to  fit  him  for  a  life  that  had  proven  too 
hard  for  him.  He  consoled  himself  with  the  thought 


that  he  was  not  responsible  for  the  error  of  his  course, 
or  for  the  character  that  made  possible  that  course — 
that  what  he  was  was  the  result  of  influences  beyond 
his  control. 

What  was  the  use  of  the  struggle  he  had  made, 
anyway?  What  was  the  use  of  anything?  he  thought 
bitterly.  The  recollection  of  Marjory's  smiles  came 
to  mock  him.  When  he  could  give,  she  smiled.  When 
he  could  not  give,  she  frowned.  Love?  Had  she 
truly  loved  him  ?  Was  she  capable  of  true  love  ?  Often 
of  late  he  had  asked  himself  that.  Yet  never  had  he 
questioned  the  strength  of  his  own  love,  nor  suspected 
the  foundation  of  quicksand  on  which  it  rested.  His 
love  for  her  had  put  him  where  he  was  now,  and  had 
led  him  to  wrong  her  so  grievously,  while  he  con- 
ceived he  was  sacrificing  himself  for  her  greater  hap- 
piness ;  for  even  though  love  be  pure  and  high,  it  may 
sometimes,  when  not  grounded  on  strength  of  char- 
acter itself  based  on  high  moral  conviction,  lead  to 
acts  that  are  the  opposite. 

Sam  stirred  restlessly;  but  unheeding  him  Denneth 
continued  silently  thinking  the  thing  out  for  the  hun- 
dredth time.  The  sum  of  money  he  had  been  able 
to  take  unnoticed  from  the  bank  was  large.  It  might 
not  seem  so  to  many  men,  but  to  him  who  had  known 
only  comparative  comforts  it  seemed  big  indeed.  Cer- 
tainly it  ought  to  be  sufficient  to  keep  Marjory  and  her 
child  in  the  fair  amount  of  comfort  that  she  was  used 
to  for  many  years  to  come.  Anyway,  it  was  the  best 
he  had  been  able  to  do  for  them. 

He  tried  to  look  at  the  other  side  of  the  argument; 
but  could  not  see  anything  save  the  fact  that  he  had 
done  the  very  best  thing  possible.  Had  he  not 
stolen  this  money — with  his  eyes  predicted  to  fail 
within  a  year — there  would  have  been  nothing  for 
Marjory!  Yes,  he  had  certainly  done  wisely. 


186    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Whether  by  that  act  he  had  lost  in  self-respect  more 
than  he  had  gained  mattered  not.  They  were  pro- 
vided for.  But  he  must  tell  Sam  Simmons  what  he 
had  come  to  tell  him.  He  needed  Sam's  help  in  the 
matter.  So  bracing  himself,  he  sat  down  and,  lean- 
ing toward  his  friend,  said  earnestly : 

"Sam,  I've  fallen  down — failed,  as  I  told  you.  And 
now  I've  come  to  ask  you  to  help  me.  Are  you  will- 
ing, old  man?" 

"Am  I  willing?"  Sam  repeated  almost  before  the 
other  had  ceased  speaking.  "Whatter  yer  take  me  fer 
to  ask  that  question?"  he  said  indignantly.  "Do  you 
think  I'm  a  female  tired  of  her  part  of  the  bargain 
and  headed  for  Reno — a  hen  too  rovin'  by  nature  to 
set  on  her  eggs — a  bear  desertin'  of  her  cubs — a  white- 
livered  skunk,  in  plain  American?  What  are  you 
hintin'  at,  anyhow,  when  you  ask  if  I  am  willin'  to 
help  you?  Ain't  I  often  proved  to  you  that  you  are 
my  tootsey-wootsey,  so  to  speak,  my  only  valentine — 
the  best  pal  I've  got  in  the  world?  "Lord,  Sonny, 
'course  I'll  help  you,"  and  he  choked  in  his  earnest 
expressions  of  loyalty.  Then  clearing  his  throat  to 
hide  his  emotion,  he  exclaimed  gruffly :  "Spit  out  your 
cud !  Tell  me  all  about  it !" 

"Well,  Sam,  I've  robbed  my  bank  of  this,"  and  he 
threw  two  bundles  of  greenbacks  carelessly  upon  the 
table  near  him.  "Slipped  them  out  of  the  middle  of 
a  bundle  of  big  notes  and  substituted  small  bills  from 
my  cash  drawer.  Two  or  three  days  ago." 

Sam's  eyes  nearly  popped  out  of  his  head  at  the 
size  of  the  bundles  and  denomination  of  the  bills,  and 
he  grinned  like  a  pleased  schoolboy.  But  seeing  his 
expression,  Denneth's  jaw  set  itself  firmly,  and  he  sai'd 
quickly : 

"I  didn't  do  it  for  the  old  reason,  Sam,"  trying  but 
not  knowing  how  to  explain  the  situation  to  his  friend. 


"Things  are  going  bad  with  me  and  the  'missus,'  and 
she " 

Then  he  stopped  again.  It  was  hard  to  speak  of 
the  thing  nearest  his  heart,  even  to  the  man  who  he 
knew  was  devoted  to  him.  Yet  he  must  do  so  in 
order  to  complete  his  plans. 

"She — we  are  to — ''  Then  he  broke  off.  He  could 
not  tell  that !  Hurrying  on,  he  said  more  thickly :  "I 
can't  tell  you  the  story  now,  Sam.  You'll  have  to  trust 
me.  I've  never  lied  to  you  yet  and  I  never  will.  It's 
sufficient  to  say  that  she  needs  this  money.  Well,  I'm 
lighting  out  to-night.  It  seems  to  be  about  the  only 
thing  I  can  do.  I  want  you  to  handle  this  money  for 
me,  Sam.  See  that  she  gets  a  certain  amount  every 
month.  Here's  a  memorandum  telling  you  exactly  how 
to  manage  it — the  amount,  and  so  forth.  And  don't 
let  her  know  where  it  comes  from.  Don't  let  her  ever 
see  you  or  know  that  you  ever  knew  me.  She — she — 
I've  just  arranged  for  her  to  go  to  this  address  in 
New  York."  Handing  Sam  another  slip  of  paper. 
"After  that  she  will  go  there,"  handing  him  still  an- 
other slip  on  which  there  was  written  another  address. 
"Understand  ?  The  money  will  simply  reach  her  once 
a  month.  That's  all  she  need  know,  and  that's  all 
you'd  better  know.  I  hate  to  bother  you,  old  man, 
but  you  are  the  only  friend  I've  got.  But  there's  one 
thing  sure  and  certain,  Sam,  and  that  is  that  you'll 
have  to  keep  straight  to  do  this  job!  I  don't  believe 
anybody  would  ever  suspect  you  if  you  do.  Watch 
Mrs.  Richardson.  Keep  track  of  her,"  he  went  on. 
"If  she  should  move,  you  move  too,  or  get  her  address, 
so  the  money  won't  miscarry.  It  will  be  her  liveli- 
hood, remember  that,  old  man!  And  in  payment  for 
this  trouble  you  must  take  one-third  of  what's  there," 
pointing  to  the  bundles  upon  the  table. 

Sam  flushed.     "Do  you  think  I'd  let  you  pay  me 


188     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

fer  doin'  a  job  fer  you?"  he  broke  in  with  scorn. 
"You  just  guzzle  that — pipe  it — cut  that  idee  out  of 
your  cranium!" 

"But,  Sam,  one  has  to  have  money  to  keep  straight, 
you  know " 

"Well,  it  don't  have  to  be  none  of  your  money," 
Sam  broke  in  again.  "I  ain't  no  sheep  in  rabbit's 
clothing — no  Tommy  in  the  preserve  closet — no  rob- 
ber of  widows  and  orphans,  even  if  I  am  a  gink — a 
fluke — a  bum,  in  plain  American,"  he  said  resolutely. 
"I  got  chink  put  in  the  bank  fer  the  kids  when  they 
get  all  the  learnin'  their  nuts  will  hold  in  that  cold- 
storage  place  where  they  is  highbrowing  it  now.  I 
don't  need  nothin'  for  myself!"  and  he  looked  with 
determination  into  Denneth's  eyes,  though  his  own 
eyes  were  rather  dim  with  feeling. 

"Then  give  me  back  one  of  those  bundles,"  Den- 
neth  said  firmly;  and  taking  from  Sam  the  smaller  of 
the  two,  he  slipped  it  into  his  own  pocket.  "I've  got 
the  address  of  those  kiddies;  I  know  your  bank  and 
the  name  of  the  town  it  is  in,  and  the  name  in  which 
that  deposit  for  your  children  is  made,"  he  said.  "I'll 
see  that  this  money  is  deposited  there  to-morrow.  Will 
you  shake  on  it,  partner?" 

"Well,  now  that's  another  eye  in  the  peacock's  tail," 
Sam  said,  beaming.  "Another  chicken  in  the  pie — a 
horse  of  another  color,  in  plain  American.  Pal,  you're 
white!" 

"Then  I  had  better  go,"  Denneth  said,  catching  the 
other's  hand  and  shaking  it  warmly.  "And  leave  this 
letter  at  the  door  of  my  apartment — but  not  before 
to-morrow  night.  I'll  be  out  of  reach  by  then.  Un- 
derstand ?  And  don't  let  any  one  see  you  do  it.  Watch 
the  papers.  I  don't  believe,  though,  that  they  can  find 
me — that  is,  not  where  /  am  going!  Good-by,  old 
man,  and — God  bless  you!" 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     189 

And  before  Sam  Simmons  could  answer,  Denneth 
Richardson  had  disappeared  into  the  night. 


No  word  from  Denneth  had  reached  Marjory  dur- 
ing the  following  day ;  but  happy  in  the  renewed  plans 
for  buying  all  sorts  of  fluffy  things  for  her  self- 
adornment  with  the  bills  that  Denneth  had  given  her 
just  before  his  departure,  she  felt  no  anxiety,  but  sang 
about  her  little  household  tasks.  Late  that  afternoon 
her  doorbell  rang  and  Mary  Anna,  the  colored  maid, 
summoned  her,  saying  that  two  officers  of  the  law  de- 
manded to  see  Denneth  Richardson. 

With  great  hauteur,  and  in  exact  imitation  of  her 
mother,  the  little  fair  thing  condescended  to  see  them 
at  the  front  door,  and  explained  shortly  that  her  hus- 
band had  gone  off  on  a  business  trip  to  New  York. 

At  this  innocent  statement,  made  in  all  good  faith, 
she  was  surprised  and  annoyed  to  see  the  two  men 
exchange  keen  looks.  Then  one  of  them  blocked 
the  door  open  with  the  toe  of  his  heavy  boot.  The 
expression  of  their  faces  alarmed  her,  and  quickly 
calling  out  for  reinforcement  from  the  maid,  who  was, 
of  course,  hovering  between  the  crack  and  keyhole  of 
the  kitchen  door,  Marjory  demanded  icily  that  the 
officers  tell  her  why  they  were  so  ungentlemanly  as  to 
intrude  upon  her  thus,  and  if  they  could  not  explain 
their  conduct  to  kindly  leave  her  presence  at  once ! 

"I'm  sorry,  ma'am,"  one  of  them  said,  bowing  in 
awkward  politeness  as  Mary  Anna  joined  her  mis- 
tress, "but  we  will  have  to  ask  you  to  give  us  Mr. 
Richardson's  address  in  New  York." 

Marjory's  indignation  flared  at  such  a  question ;  and 
she  waved  grandly  outward,  while  saying  with  a 
frightened,  childish  break  in  her  voice:  "Leave  here 
immediately,  sirsl" 


190    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

The  men  continued  to  stand  stolidly  just  outside 
the  door,  in  spite  of  her  pointing  finger,  and  flushing 
with  anger  she  said:  "The  question  of  my  husband's 
whereabouts  concerns  only  his  wife."  Then  address- 
ing the  maid,  she  said  haughtily :  "Mary  Anna,  show 
the  gentlemen  the  elevator" ;  and,  turning  on  her  heel, 
she  marched  into  the  sitting-room  and  flung  herself 
upon  the  couch. 

The  two  officers  stood  meekly  shuffling  their  feet 
in  silent  embarrassment.  At  this  Mary  Anna  became 
very  much  excited,  and  imitating  her  young  mistress's 
every  look  and  gesture  she  demanded:  "Gentlemens, 
we  both  of  us  command  that  you  git  out  of  these 
house-premises  double  quick  and  most  immediately! 
Do  you  hear  ?  Git !"  and  she  stepped  forward  threat- 
eningly. 

Thereupon  one  of  the  men  opened  his  coat  and 
showed  his  badge,  saying  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to 
reach  Marjory,  "I'm  sorry,  as  I  said,  but  duty  is 
duty  and  the  National  Bank's  expert  accountant  has 
just  discovered  there's  several  thousand  dollars  miss- 
ing, and  the  evidence  points  to  the  receiving  teller " 

But  he  got  no  further,  for  Mary  Anna  Victoria 
Roberta,  large  and  black,  her  arms  akimbo,  her  Vir- 
ginia blood  up,  broke  in: 

"Holy  Lamb  o'  Gawd!  You  great  big  ruffians, 
you!  Git  outer  here  and  leave  my  little  Miss  alone. 
She  don't  know  where  he  is!"  and  banging  the  door 
in  the  men's  faces  she  screamed  through  it :  "Oh,  you 
jes'  wait  until  I  gits  the  vote!"  And,  her  flat  feet 
flapping  upon  the  rugs,  she  made  her  way  in  loyal 
indignation  to  her  mistress's  side. 

A  few  moments  later  a  small  package  mysteriously 
appeared  at  the  back  door  of  the  little  flat.  Mar- 
jory took  it  from  Mary  Anna's  faithful  hands  and, 
breaking  the  seal,  found  a  note  inside: 


"Little  Anemone,  flower  I  love,"  it  ran,  "it  is  best 
that  I  leave  you.  Follow  exactly  the  directions  here 
given  and  you  will  be  safe.  Take  back  your  maiden 
name.  Leave  Hampton  immediately.  I  have  made  all 
arrangements  for  your  future  as  far  as  money  is  con- 
cerned. When  you  are  well  enough  to  leave  the  hos- 
pital, wire  Mrs.  Mary  Morse,  R.  F.  D.  No.  31,  Ro- 
weena,  New  York,  and  she  will  meet  you.  There  is 
a  little  home  awaiting  you  and  the  child.  She  is  keep- 
ing it  for  you.  I  want  him  to  grow  up  among  the 
woods  and  flowers.  I  have  written  her  all;  but  she 
will  guard  and  take  care  of  you  both.  She  befriended 
me  once " 

Here  the  cleanness  of  the  paper  upon  which  the  note 
was  written  was  marred  by  words  which  had  evidently 
been  erased.  Then  in  a  few  terse  phrases  Marjory 
was  told  the  detailed  plans  which  he  had  laid  for  her 
comfort  throughout  the  ensuing  weeks.  A  telegram 
stating  the  number  of  her  hospital  room,  a  ticket  to 
New  York,  and  a  roll  of  crisp  new  bills  were  enclosed. 
His  name  was  signed,  and  then  beneath  it,  in  a  trem- 
bling chirography,  the  words  appeared:  "Try  to  for- 
give me,  and  never  let  him  know  the  truth  about  his 
father." 

Marjory  lifted  startled  eyes.  Then  it  was  all  true — 
the  things  those  men  had  said !  Oh,  what  would  people 
say!! 

Had  Marjory  been  less  thoughtlessly  selfish,  she 
would  have  been  touched  by  the  evident  pains  which 
Denneth  had  taken  in  her  behalf,  even  though  he  had 
done  this  thing  which  would  disgrace  her  for  life.  In- 
stead of  any  such  feeling,  however,  a  furious  anger 
against  him  blazed  in  her  heart,  choking  out  all  else. 
His  eyes  as  they  had  looked  when  he  said  good-by 
the  morning  before  came  to  her  in  pleading;  but  she 


192     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

forced  them  away  as  a  thing  of  horror.  She  hated 
their  growing  vagueness — and  had  for  a  long  time. 
To  be  so  nearsighted  as  she  had  seen  Denneth  grow 
made  any  one  look  so  silly!  The  way  he  had  clung 
to  her  in  that  last  embrace  now  seemed  only  a  mock- 
ery in  the  light  of  this  cruel  thing  which  he  had 
done  to  her.  Clinching  her  small  fists,  she  buried  her 
head  in  the  pillows  upon  the  couch  and  burst  into 
hysterical  weeping.  He  had  disgraced  her  forever! 
What  would  people  say! 

Her  mother's  criticism  of  Denneth  came  uppermost 
in  her  mind,  and,  with  an  intensity  of  hatred  against 
him,  she  said  over  and  over  to  herself  that  her  mother 
was  right — had  always  been  right.  She  was  a  fool 
to  have  ever  married  him.  She  lay  for  several  min- 
utes in  this  condition,  repeating  to  herself  the  words: 
"Married  to  a  criminal !  A  criminal!"  She  imagined 
she  saw  the  world's  finger  of  scorn  pointed  at  her.  She 
was  the  wife  of  a  thief !  She  was  branded  by  Society 
forever ! 

Not  once  did  she  consider  Denneth's  possible  inno- 
cence or  suffering,  nor  did  she  try  to  make  excuses 
for  him.  Instead  she  blamed  upon  him  everything 
which  had  happened  since  she  knew  him  that  could,  by 
any  possibility,  be  construed  against  him.  Brought 
up  without  sense  of  loyalty  toward  any  one  save  her 
own  little  wilful  self,  she  did  not  see  at  all  how  ut- 
terly selfish  and  despicable  her  attitude  was.  She  felt 
herself  to  be  entirely  and  unalterably  the  injured  one, 
and  took  pleasure  in  ascribing  to  Denneth  every  form 
of  wickedness  she  could  conceive. 

Finally  the  words  of  his  note  came  back  to  her 
through  the  jumble  of  her  distressed  mind  and,  dry- 
ing her  eyes,  she  looked  about  her  at  the  cozy  green 
and  brown  room  in  which  she  lay,  with  its  vases  full 
of  flowers  and  window  boxes  green  with  ferns.  The 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     193 

little  desk  set  of  birch  bark,  made  by  his  own  hands, 
the  pictures  of  woody  scenes  upon  the  softly  painted 
walls,  everything  spoke  to  her  of  him.  The  furnish- 
ing of  the  tiny  place,  in  spite  of  its  lack  of  roomi- 
ness, gave  a  sense  of  the  freedom  of  all  out-of-doors. 
There  was  a  restfulness  about  it  that  none  save  those 
familiar  with  the  depths  of  the  woods  could  fully 
appreciate.  Yet,  looking  at  it  now,  Marjory  hated  it 
all.  It  stifled  her — gave  her  a  sense  of  oppression. 
She  felt  unless  she  escaped  from  it  soon  she  could  not 
control  herself  at  all! 

Again  she  read  his  note.  Yes,  she  must  leave  Hamp- 
ton at  once.  She  would  catch  the  evening  train.  Sob- 
bing violently,  she  called  Mary  Anna,  and  explaining 
as  best  she  could,  commanded  her  to  help  in  their  prep- 
aration for  departure. 

As  she  packed  up  all  the  dainty  laces,  the  flimsy  friv- 
olities and  foolish  vanities  which  Denneth  in  his  gen- 
erosity had  bestowed  upon  her,  dabbing  her  eyes  and 
swallowing  the  lump  that  would  come  uppermost  in 
her  throat,  she  ground  her  small  teeth  together  and 
hoped  she  would  never  see  him  again.  He  had  spoiled 
her  life! 

******* 

They  found  him  in  the  strip  of  woodland  where 
the  river  took  a  companionable  sweep  inward  toward 
a  flower-turfed  mound,  a  pistol-hole  through  his  left 
breast.  He  had  thought  it  better  so,  but — his  hand 
had  fumbled! 

He  was  taken  back  to  Hampton  and  in  due  time  sen- 
tence was  pronounced.  It  proved  to  be  a  double 
one;  for  attempted  suicide  is  punishable  by  law  as 
attempted  manslaughter.  For  that  act  he  received  a 
life  sentence.  For  his  theft,  ten  years  more — in  true 
keeping  with  the  exquisitely  unconscious  irony  of  the 
law! 


Under  his  real  name  of  Richard  Dennison,  told  dur- 
ing a  burst  of  defiance  and  a  bitter  tirade  against  life, 
the  woods  were  locked  away  from  him  forever.  His 
honest  attempt  at  honesty,  his  physical  clean  living, 
his  love  for  Marjory,  his  hopes  and  ambitions,  his  en- 
tire better  self,  in  fact,  seemed  to  him  almost  as  if 
they  had  never  been.  In  the  stench  and  filth  of  an  un- 
derground cell  his  sight  began  to  fail  him  rapidly; 
broken  in  spirit,  body  and  soul,  he  was  once  more  a 
man  without  a  country,  and  though  living  he  was  dead. 
For  his  offense  against  property  rights  the  Majesty  of 
the  Law  had  set  its  machinery  in  motion,  ingeniously 
contrived — for  what  purpose?  To  exact  recompense 
for  the  injury  done?  That  would  seem  a  logical  end 
to  achieve.  No;  rather  to  make  its  victim  feel  the 
full  weight  of  its  vengeance,  and  forever  crush  his 
manhood — a  crime  which  in  the  sight  of  God  must  far 
outweigh  any  committed  by  the  culprit. 

Yet  what  stand  does  Society  take  with  respect  to 
offenses  against  those  rights  which  are  higher  than 
those  of  property  ?  Back  in  Dunham  the  weak-mouthed 
fop  still  violated  trysts  unchecked.  Wild  oats  were 
sown,  and  Society  reaped  a  blind,  imbecile  and  blood- 
polluted  menace  with  no  real  attempt  to  stop  it.  In 
warring  countries  spies  and  deserters  are  shot,  while 
monsters  who  drag  down  into  the  mire  God's  most 
sacred  law  of  nature  escape  unscathed. 

The  eyes  of  justice  are  bound !  In  crass  egotism  we 
count  the  present  more  important  than  the  future.  We 
do  not  even  try  to  look  further  than  "the  little  mist- 
bound  span  of  life  that  the  eyes  of  man  have  been 
allowed  to  see."  Thus  it  takes  civilization  a  thousand 
years  to  learn  what  it  might  learn  in  a  day. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MARJORY  dressed  in  hat  and  coat  sat  in  her  immacu- 
late room  at  the  Cosmopolitan  Hospital,  her  baby  held 
awkwardly  upon  her  trembling  knees.  The  slow  tears 
filled  her  eyes,  dimmed  with  suffering,  while  in  her 
heart  a  frozen  sort  of  pain  grew  to  alarming  sharp- 
ness. Yet  almost  without  looking  her  hands  went 
on  robing  the  little  fellow  in  cape  and  hood.  Unclasp- 
ing the  locket  of  queer  design  from  about  her  own 
neck,  she  clasped  it  about  his.  Then  she  wrote  upon 
a  scrap  of  paper  the  words.  "His  name  is  Stanley," 
and  opening  the  locket's  lid  slipped  the  paper  inside. 
Finally  she  stood  up. 

With  a  quick,  frightened  gesture  the  baby's  little 
pink  fingers  reached  out  and  twined  themselves  about 
one  of  her  slender  white  ones  as  though  he  was  fearful 
lest  she  let  him  fall.  With  the  grip  of  a  drowning 
man  he  clung  to  it,  and  made  queer  gurgling  noises 
while  trying  at  the  same  moment  to  ram  his  other 
fist  into  the  limited  facial  opening  which  nature  had 
provided  him  for  this  purpose. 

A  dry  sob  broke  from  Marjory's  lips,  and,  raising 
her  little  son  to  her  breast,  she  buried  her  face  in  his 
lacy  softness,  holding  him  convulsively  closer  until  she 
felt  his  moist  mouth  kiss  her  burning  cheek.  With  a 
feeling  of  marvel  that  such  could  have  been  the  case, 
she  recalled  the  days  before  his  birth  when  she  had 
thought  that  she  did  not  want  him !  Perhaps  her  pres- 
ent distress  and  that  which  she  was  deliberately  plan- 
ning for  herself  for  his  sake  was  sent  her  in  punish- 
ment for  that  aversion !  Not  want  him  ?  She  involun- 
tarily clasped  him  closer,  and  at  the  unwonted  tense- 
ness of  her  soft  arms  the  little  fellow  cried  out !  Some- 

195 


how  the  whole  of  the  mother-hour  of  agony  that  had 
given  him  birth  seemed  to  sweep  over  Marjory  at  his 
cry;  then  came  the  precious  memory  of  the  first  warm 
touch  of  him  against  her  breast,  the  touch  which  had 
changed  her  whole  point  of  view.  Could  she  find  the 
strength  of  will  to  carry  out  her  present  plan  after 
all?  Could  she  give  him  up?  And  yet  she  firmly  be- 
lieved that  in  fairness  to  him  she  must! 

A  knock  sounded  at  the  door.  In  answer  to  Mar- 
jory's summons  a  sweet-faced  nurse  appeared.  "All 
right,  Mrs.  Matthews,"  she  said.  "The  cab  is  wait- 
ing. Here,  let  me  take  the  boy.  Bless  him!  There!" 
as  she  cuddled  him  up  to  her  and  saw  that  Marjory 
had  her  small  traveling  bag.  "You're  sure  you  don't 
want  any  of  us  to  go  with  you?  Miss  Comfort's  off 
duty,  you  know,  and  can  put  you  on  the  train  just 
as  well  as  not." 

Marjory  shook  her  head  and  was  about  to  speak 
when  the  nurse  continued:  "Oh,  by  the  way,  that 
queer  man  has  been  around  here  again  to-day.  It's 
the  funniest  thing,  but  he  insists  that  he  does  know 
you,  and  that  he  must  see  you !  Said  again  that  your 
husband  sent  him.  And  he  gave  me  this  note,"  look- 
ing anxiously  at  Marjory's  flushed  face;  "but  I 
wouldn't  read  it  if  it  upsets  you !" 

"He's  crazy!"  Marjory  exclaimed  angrily.  But, 
taking  the  proffered  note,  she  opened  and  read  it. 

"Missus,"  it  ran,  "you  must  see  me.  I'm  Sam  Sim- 
mons. He  said  not  but  I  gotter  disobey  this  onct. 
Theys  piped  him.  Things  looks  bad.  Me  and  you 
is  all  he's  got " 

But  Marjory  read  no  further.  "I  don't  know  what 
the  idiot  means!"  she  flared  angrily.  "I  never  heard 
of  this  man!"  and  tearing  the  letter  to  bits  she  threw 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     197 

it  from  her.  Then  walking  ahead  of  the  nurse  she 
passed  down  the  hospital  corridors  and  out  the  front 
door  to  a  cab  waiting  in  the  dusk. 

"To  the  Grand  Central  Station,"  she  said,  and  tak- 
ing her  child  from  the  nurse's  arms  Marjory  settled 
herself  back  and  the  cab  started.  So  engaged  was  she 
in  letting  bitter  thoughts  of  her  husband  hold  her  mind 
in  sway  that  she  did  not  notice  a  dark  figure  as  it 
slouched  from  the  shadows  of  the  hospital  entrance 
and,  entering  another  cab,  followed  them. 

The  very  idea  of  Denneth  trying  to  communicate 
with  her,  and  so  disgrace  her  and  her  precious  boy! 
For,  of  course,  that  was  what  Sam  Simmons' s  note  had 
meant.  So  ran  her  indignant  thoughts.  Recalling 
Denneth's  written  words  to  her  on  that  dreadful  day 
in  Hampton  just  before  she  had  fled  to  New  York,  her 
face  sneered  with  the  hatred  and  loathing  in  which 
she  now  held  her  husband.  Of  course,  he  was  send- 
ing Sam  Simmons — whoever  Sam  Simmons  was! — to 
try  and  get  her  to  help  him,  now  that  he  was  in 
trouble !  Well,  she  would  not  do  it !  Why,  even  now 
was  she  not  about  to  make  the  greatest  sacrifice  a 
mother  can  make  to  save  the  good  name  of  her  boy? 
He  should  never  know  who  his  father  was.  Again 
all  the  hatred  of  which  her  nature  was  capable  blazed 
in  Marjory,  and  as  the  cab  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
station  it  gave  her  new  impetus  and  strength  to  do 
that  thing  which  she  had  so  carefully  planned  for 
the  sake  of  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

Quickly  she  alighted,  though  not  too  quickly  for 
Sam  Simmons's  keen  eyes.  Clasping  the  baby  tightly 
in  her  arms,  she  hurried  through  the  crowded  sta- 
tion, stopping  only  long  enough  to  check  her  suitcase. 
Many  idly  curious  eyes  followed  for  a  moment  her 
flushed  face,  caught  by  its  appealing  beauty,  but  that 
was  all;  and  so  as  she  passed  through  the  exit  of  the 


198     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

station  and  found  herself  upon  a  quiet  side  street  she 
felt  sure  that  she  was  safe  from  observation. 

Looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  she 
went  rapidly  forward,  then  turning  up  traversed  one 
of  the  older  residential  avenues  of  the  city  until  well 
up  into  the  more  fashionable  neighborhood  of  side 
streets  on  the  upper  East  Side.  Here  she  continued 
toward  the  east.  Shabby  residences  began  to  replace 
gloomily  impressive  ones.  The  exclusiveness  of  drawn 
curtains  was  succeeded  by  democratic  and  unshaded 
windows,  where  the  light  from  inside  shone  out  to 
cheer  the  passer-by.  The  fresh  dampness  of  wind  blow- 
ing across  water  smote  her  face.  Weather-stained 
houses  huddled  together  in  a  seeming  effort  to  keep 
warm. 

Down  upon  the  river's  edge  a  long  building  came 
into  view.  Seeing  its  one  twinkling  light,  a  star  in 
an  alcove  in  the  side  wall  just  where  the  grated  fence 
which  surrounded  the  big  barren  yard  commenced, 
Marjory  hurried  toward  it.  The  street  was  entirely 
deserted,  and  though  she  many  times  looked  appre- 
hensively about  her  she  did  not  once  see  the  slouching 
figure  of  Sam  Simmons  as  it  slid  along  from  one 
shadow  to  another,  never  losing  sight  of  her,  yet  never 
for  an  instant  allowing  his  anxiety  to  get  the  better 
of  his  early  professional  training.  He  had  promised 
his  "pal"  that  he  would  keep  track  of  Marjory.  Den- 
neth  had  given  him  the  same  address  which  he  had 
given  Marjory — that  of  a  New  England  woman  who 
had  once  befriended  them  both.  Sam  had  supposed 
that  Marjory  would,  of  course,  go  there,  as  she  had 
been  told.  It  was  to  that  address  he  was  to  send 
Denneth's  money  every  month ;  yet  here  she  was  walk- 
ing rapidly  toward  the  river,  instead  of  taking  the 
train  to  the  indicated  station!  His  heart  misgave 
him!  He  quickened  his  pursuit.  Not  only  would  he 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     199 

protect  her  and  her  child  from  herself — if  what  he 
dimly  suspected  were  to  prove  true — but  he  was  also 
determined  to  see  and  talk  to  Marjory  about  her  hus^ 
band.  Surely  she  could  not  know  of  Denneth's  pres- 
ent predicament!  The  verdict  that  the  court  had 
passed  in  his  case  must  be  unsuspected  by  her,  else 
she  would  certainly  try  to  go  to  him  and  comfort  him 
a  little 

Marjory  hurried  on.  During  her  school  days  in  a 
fashionable  convent  in  New  York  she  had  several  times 
been  shown  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep,  and  so 
a  few  weeks  before,  while  she  lay  in  the  hospital,  the 
new  and  hitherto  unsuspected  love  for  her  son  having 
awakened  in  her  breast,  she  had  recalled  the  story  of 
the  place  in  connection  with  Denneth's  words  "never 
let  him  know  who  his  father  was!",  and  a  plan,  full 
fledged,  had  entered  her  mind.  From  then  until  now 
she  had  known  no  peace,  for  though  what  she  was 
about  to  do  would  cause  her  untold  suffering,  she  felt 
absolutely  sure  it  was  the  best  thing  for  the  boy. 

Marjory  had  lived  for  three  years  with  the  beauti- 
ful Sisters  in  the  Holy  Mother  Convent.  They  were 
saints,  every  one  of  them!  Life  there  had  been  a 
series  of  prayers,  some  study,  and  sweet  girl  friend- 
ships. But  of  life  she  had  learned  practically  nothing. 
Even  during  vacations  spent  with  her  mother  that  lady 
was  careful  to  guard  her  "innocent"  thoughts,  teach- 
ing her,  instead  of  life's  truths,  the  standards  of  a  life 
of  luxury  and  the  false  ideals  of  clothes.  At  the 
convent  Marjory  had  heard  with  a  feeling  of  awe  the 
story  of  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep,  and  how, 
if  instead  of  alms,  a  baby  was  put  into  the  conveniently 
large  alms-basket  where  the  starlight  always  twinkled, 
a  bell  would  ring  inside  the  Home's  gray  walls.  On 
that  signal  the  basket  would  revolve,  and  the  baby 
would  be  taken  out  and  into  the  Home  through  a  secret 


200    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

door,  and  no  questions  asked.  The  true  significance 
of  this  was,  of  course,  lost  upon  her,  then  and  even 
now.  She  knew  little  of  life. 

With  the  dear  Sisters  Marjory  had  once  visited  an 
orphanage  very  like  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep. 
To  her  youthful  eyes  the  inmates  had  seemed  clean 
and  happy  little  beings  who  were  bound  to  grow  up 
into  good  men  and  women  under  the  guidance  of  the 
Sisters  and  the  visiting  Fathers.  She  had  heard  it 
said  that  few  of  these  children  ever  knew  who  their 
fathers  were.  Somewhere  she  had  read  the  phrase 
that  "the  sons  of  convicts  nearly  always  turn  out  to 
be  convicts  themselves,"  and  her  mind  quickly  coupling 
the  two  things  together,  she  had  accepted  the  plan  it 
suggested  as  heaven-sent.  Little  Stanley  should  not 
grow  up  under  the  shadow  of  his  father's  crimes! 
Little  Stanley  should  have  a  fair  chance!  He  should 
live  with  and  grow  up  with  women  almost  as  good,  no 
doubt,  as  the  Sisters  of  the  convent.  Of  little  Stanley's 
whereabouts  she  would  never  tell  her  own  mother. 
She  had  thought  out  even  that  detail.  She  would  tell 
her  mother  that  the  little  baby  had  died  at  birth.  Yes, 
her  son  should  have  his  fair  chance  in  the  world.  She 
had  pinned  a  note  to  his  dress  asking  that  he  be  al- 
lowed always  to  wear  the  locket  of  queer  design  about 
his  neck.  She  could  go  to  see  him  occasionally — she 
clasped  him  convulsively  closer  to  her  at  this  thought. 
Perhaps  when  he  had  grown  up  into  a  good  and  holy 
man  she  could  tell  him  who  she  was ;  but  now —  Chok- 
ing back  a  sob,  she  hurried  across  the  street. 

With  arms  outstretched  she  reached  the  alcove  in 
which  was  the  basket.  She  knelt  down.  The  bell 
rang!  That  moment  stayed  with  her  all  the  rest  of 
her  life.  Awake  or  asleep,  it  would  often  envelop  her 
like  a  poisonous  vapor.  She  could  not  reason  the  thing 
out  to  its  ultimate  conclusion.  She  did  not  know  how 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    201 

to  reason,  she  was  so  appallingly  ignorant  of  actual 
conditions,  and  she  honestly  believed  she  was  acting 
for  the  best. 

Blinded  by  tears  she  arose  to  her  feet  and  stumbled 
away.  But  Sam  Simmons  had  seen  and  understood 
the  emptiness  of  her  arms.  There  were  few  dark  se- 
crets of  the  city  that  he  did  not  know.  The  alms- 
basket's  true  and  frequent  use  was  not  known  to  many, 
but  Sam,  rough  fellow  though  he  was,  had  once  helped 
a  strange  woman  who  had  had  occasion  to  use  it. 

With  a  spring  like  a  catapult  he  was  dashing  across 
the  street !  His  pal's  little  son !  She  was  disposing  of 
it!  He  had  not  dreamed  she  would  take  this  course. 
He  had  thought  of  the  river,  but 

He  had  promised  Denny 

The  driver  of  a  motor  truck,  which  came  sharply 
around  the  corner,  caught  sight  of  his  flying  figure — 
too  late.  A  crowd  sprang  up  from  nowhere. 

With  a  shudder  Marjory  quickened  her  steps  and 
turned  her  head  away  as  she  reached  the  spot  where 
the  group  had  congregated. 

"The  lady!"  Sam  whispered.  "For  God's  sake, 
quick !"  in  answer  to  a  question  from  one  of  the  crowd; 
and  the  questioner,  seeing  Marjory,  stepped  in  front 
of  her  and  said: 

"It's  you,  Miss,  he's  after  wantin'." 

"Oh — h!"  Marjory  gasped,  frightened  at  the  man's 
address.  Then  recovering  her  voice,  and  her  mind 
taking  in  the  meaning  of  the  man's  words,  she  an- 
swered :  "But  I  don't  know  him.  He  can't  want  me. 
I — couldn't  possibly  speak  to  him!"  and,  shuddering, 
she  tried  to  hurry  on. 

"Mother  of  Mary!  An'  ye  a  woman,  to  refuse  a 
dyin'  man's  request?  Ye  shan't!!"  he  exclaimed,  and 
boldly  putting  his  burly  arm  out  in  front  of  Mar- 
jory he  stopped  her. 


202     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Come  on !"  Taking  her  by  the  arm,  he  forced  her 
to  step  from  the  curb,  and  though  she  was  now  trem- 
bling in  her  fright  he  led  her  up  to  where  Sam  lay, 
a  dark,  horribly  mutilated  object  whose  eyes  alone 
showed  that  he  was  still  living. 

"Here's  the  lady,  old  sport,"  Marjory's  captor  said, 
his  rough  manner  becoming  surprisingly  gentle  as  he 
leaned  over  Sam.  Then  turning  to  Marjory  he  com- 
manded in  his  former  tone :  "Kneel  down  there.  He 
wants  to  spake  with  ye!" 

Sick  with  the  sight  of  Sam's  wrecked  body,  and  too 
frightened  to  resist,  Marjory  leaned  over  him  and 
listened  as  he  gasped  between  the  convulsions  of  agony 
that  racked  him : 

"I  promised  Denny — my  pal — you — money — every 
month."  The  world  spun  round  for  Marjory,  but  the 
bullying  brute  who  had  forced  her  to  this  strange 
man's  side  was  standing  threateningly  over  her,  and 
so  she  dared  not  faint,  nor  move  away.  Presently  the 
spasm  of  acute  pain  passed  from  Sam's  drawn  face, 
and  in  a  stronger  voice  he  said : 

"I've  tried  to  help  Denny.  Tell — him  so.  Tell 
him — "  Then  his  voice  weakened  again,  and  he  said 
faintly :  "I'm  hittin'  the  trail — vamoosing — kickin'  the 
— bucket — I  reckon.  You  must  go — he — you —  Oh, 
tell  him  I  didn't  mean  to  fail!"  he  said  in  feverish 
excitement.  "Tell  him — "  But,  his  mind  clearing 
again,  he  said  in  a  quick,  low  voice,  in  spite  of  his 
growing  weakness:  "Take  the  bundle  from  me  left 
pocket." 

The  man  who  had  stopped  Marjory  leaned  over  and, 
taking  a  bundle  from  Sam's  pocket,  silently  handed  it 
to  her;  and  Sam  went  on: 

"That's  jes'  part.  The  other— 4s—  The  other 
is — "  But  before  he  could  finish  his  sentence  his  eyes 
had  become  cold  and  still. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     203 

A  great  commotion  ensued.  The  ambulance  came 
clanging  up.  White  uniforms  lifted  the  mangled  body ; 
and  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  Marjory  slipped 
away  unnoticed  and  gained  the  quiet  and  safety  of  the 
next  street.  Absent-mindedly  she  put  into  her  pocket 
the  packet  which  she  had  received  from  Sam,  and  hur- 
ried breathlessly  on.  She  was  too  alarmed  and  dis- 
tressed by  the  whole  dreadful  experience  even  to  try 
to  understand  the  hurt  man's  words.  She  felt  no 
interest  in  the  package  he  had  given  her.  Her  one 
thought  was  to  get  away,  for  she  realized  that  he 
was  in  some  way  connected  with  her  criminal  husband. 
She  must  not  be  seen  or  questioned.  Hers  and  her 
boy's  whole  future  depended  upon  not  becoming  iden- 
tified in  any  way  with  the  man  who  had  wrecked  her 
life! 

Going  back  to  the  station,  she  recovered  the  suit- 
case which  she  had  checked  there  only  a  short  hour 
before — an  hour  so  full  of  tragedy  that  it  seemed  it 
must  be  days — and  then  engaged  a  room  at  a  nearby 
hotel.  To  relieve  an  overpowering  sense  of  loneli- 
ness she  sent  off  a  non-committal  telegram  to  her 
mother,  merely  giving  her  her  address. 

When,  some  days  later,  she  remembered  the  pack- 
age still  reposing  in  her  coat  pocket,  it  was  with  no 
feeling  of  gratitude  toward  Denneth,  or  toward  the 
dishonest  man  who  had  given  his  life  in  an  honest 
endeavor  to  help  a  fellow-unfortunate,  that  she  dis- 
covered it  was  a  roll  of  bills;  but  rather  did  it  serve 
to  increase  her  anger  against  them  both.  The  money 
in  her  possession  was  a  constant  source  of  anxiety 
and  worry  to  her.  She  dared  not  spend  it.  She  dared 
not  return  it  to  the  bank  from  which  she  knew  Den- 
neth had  taken  it.  Her  whole  mind  and  heart  was 
set  upon  the  one  idea  that  she  had  a  right  not  to  have 
to  share  Denneth' s  blame;  and  never  once  did  the 


204     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

thought  that  Denneth  had  stolen  for  her  enter  her 
mind.  With  her  ever-growing  sense  of  self- 
preservation,  there  grew  also  the  notion  that  she  had  a 
right  to  happiness.  Lacking  that,  she  saw  herself  a 
shining  martyr  in  the  light  of  her  great  self-pity,  and 
so  it  was  not  long  before  she  answered  her  mother's 
anxious  letters  from  Virginia  by  returning  to  that 
lady,  now  basking  in  the  affluence  which  the  valuable 
billy-goat  mining  fields  had  brought,  and  once  more 
took  up  the  easy,  idle  life  of  her  early  girlhood.  Once 
and  once  only  did  Marjory  visit  the  Home  of  His 
Lost  Sheep.  During  that  visit,  made  soon  after  the 
terrible  night  of  her  sacrifice,  she  became  so  unstrung 
at  the  sight  of  the  little  pink  and  white  bundle,  with 
only  its  locket  of  queer  design  about  its  neck  to  in 
any  way  separate  it  from  all  the  other  pink  and  white 
bundles,  that  she  felt  it  would  not  be  safe  for  her  to 
see  little  Stanley  again.  So  great,  so  almost  unbear- 
able, was  her  physical  longing  to  hold  the  warm  little 
body  of  her  body  against  her  heart  that  she  felt  that 
her  "mother-love,"  so  called,  could  not  stand  the 
strain!  She  even  prided  herself  secretly  upon  this 
fact,  and  thus  fanned  the  flame  of  self-pity  that  was 
fast  attaining  the  white  heat  of  utter  selfishness.  There 
is  nothing  more  sacred  in  the  world  than  mother- 
love,  but  only  when  it  is  permeated  and  directed  by 
spiritual  and  altruistic  ideals  is  it  in  any  way  differen- 
tiated from  the  physical  emotion  and  impulses  which 
obtain  even  among  the  brutes.  That  the  mother  of  a 
soul-endowed  child  is  under  compelling  obligation  to 
that  child  for  the  sake  of  its  future,  to  direct  her  love 
by  such  ideals  is  self-evident.  Yet  many  mothers, 
rather  than  suffer  emotional  discomfort  in  supplying 
the  spiritual  demands  of  that  child,  will  take  refuge 
in  the  indulgence  of  their  purely  physical  affection  for 
it.  It  is  true  that  Marjory's  sense  of  justice  to  her 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     205 

boy's  future  was  sufficiently  strong  to  enable  her  to 
resist  this  impulse,  yet  she  failed  utterly  to  realize  the 
duty  she  owed  him  to  exercise  a  mother's  influence 
toward  his  higher  development  during  the  formative 
period  of  his  life.  And  so  it  was  that  she  decided  it 
would  be  easier  and  safer  for  them  both  to  leave  little 
Stanley  entirely  to  the  care  of  this  institution ! 


Years  passed,  and  the  little  pink  and  white  bundle, 
"Number  99,"  grew  into  lonely  boyhood,  unloved,  and 
known  to  most  of  the  inmates  of  the  Home  of  His 
Lost  Sheep  only  by  his  number.  The  locket  which 
still  hung  about  his  neck  was  the  only  link  that  bound 
him  to  a  life  begun  outside  those  gray  walls.  During 
the  golden  age  when  most  boys  and  girls  live  the 
happiest  hours  of  their  whole  existence,  when  like  a 
flower  their  babyhood  is  blossoming  into  childhood  in 
the  warmth  and  light  of  a  mother's  love,  little  Stan- 
ley Richardson's  body  was  not  allowed  to  starve — 
Church  and  State  saw  to  that — but  his  soul,  unnour- 
ished,  did  starve,  and  because  of  the  lack  of  loving 
understanding  was  dwarfed  and  asleep  within  him. 

Out  in  the  world  beyond  the  walls  of  the  loveless 
barracks  which  was  the  only  home  he  knew,  other 
pink  and  white  bundles,  becoming  sturdy  little  boys, 
held  whole  households  in  subjection.  When  they 
looked  up  their  eyes  would  encounter  other  eyes  gaz- 
ing worship  fully  down  upon  them  with  adoring  faces, 
which,  like  the  sun,  seemed  made  to  smile  for  them 
alone.  They  splashed  in  scented  water  in  big  white 
tubs.  Nice,  woolly  things  encased  their  drowsy  bodies. 
Then  later,  when  they  had  grown  older  and  their  eyes 
had  become  accustomed  to  the  nearness  and  dearness 
of  the  world-of-things,  gay  toys  surrounded  them. 


206     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Childhood's  bright  days,  kind  words,  sweet 
thoughts  and  mother-loving  hours, 

The  happy  birds,  all  out-door  folks,  and 
heaven-kissed  fragrant  flowers, 

The  brooks,  the  woods  so  deep  and  cool,  the 
fields,  the  sky  so  blue " 

were  theirs.  But  not  for  Marjory's  little  son.  Awak- 
ened by  a  bell,  he  dressed  by  a  bell,  was  called  to  pray- 
ers by  a  bell.  By  the  summons  of  a  bell  he  knew  he 
was  to  be  taken  out,  one  of  a  long,  drab  line,  to  Cen- 
tral Park,  there  to  walk  in,  but  not  to  play  in,  a  green 
world  that  was  made  by  nature  for  a  children's  para- 
dise. 

For  him  the  twilight  hour  was  marked  by  prayers 
again,  but  at  no  loving  knee;  instead,  in  the  coldness 
of  a  barren  hall  in  which  he  had  just  had  supper  as 
dreary  and  tasteless  as  was  life  itself.  The  Sandman 
came  around;  but  there  was  no  soft  bosom  to  nod 
against.  Of  course  he  did  not  miss  these  joys,  for 
he  had  never  known  them.  Without  tucking  in  he 
went  to  bed  at  the  sound  of  the  bell.  Without  "bon 
voyage"  he  sailed  away  to  the  Isle  of  Dreams.  There, 
in  lieu  of  fairy  flowers  and  laughter,  he  met  great, 
gaunt,  hungry-eyed  monsters  who  beat  him  as  he  was 
beaten  in  reality  did  he  dare  to  complain  or  hint  at 
the  fact  that  life  was  very  hard  in  the  Home  of  His 
Lost  Sheep. 

Rules  were  strict  and  food  scarce.  A  housekeeper 
who  kept  the  bills  down  was  considered  an  example 
of  righteous  perfection.  She  had  honors  heaped  upon 
her  humble  head.  To  send  a  young  offender  to  bed 
without  his  always-meager  supper  accomplished  two 
things,  and  was  indulged  in  freely.  Laundry  was  an 
expensive  luxury,  and  dark-brown  homespun  showed 
little  dirt,  while  beneath  the  homespun  nothing  showed ! 
The  occupancy  of  beds  by  other  creatures  besides  the 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    207 

children  was  a  matter  of  no  moment — for  vermin, 
along  with  flies  in  food,  was  a  natural  and  harmless 
accident  in  the  daily  routine  of  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep.  The  nurses  could  not  be  expected  to  notice 
such  things.  Hired  by  the  Church  and  partly  by  the 
State,  they  were  too  busy  both  religiously  and  polit- 
ically. The  officers  could  not  see  to  it  that  the  chil- 
dren were  taught  anything  beyond  the  recognized  ele- 
ments of  education.  Their  time  was  too  taken  up  with 
politics  pertaining  to  those  who  had  already  learned 
to  sin  to  waste  it  in  trying  to  keep  these  little  home- 
less beggars  from  learning  how  to  sin! 

The  church-goers  who  supported  this  Home  ?  Why, 
embroidered  altar  cloths,  cathedral  spires  and  deep- 
toned  organs  were  needed  too  much  to  throw  away 
money  on  orphans  and  foundlings!  And  the  City — 
the  State — the  Government?  There  were  too  many 
ward-heelers  and  the  like  to  be  supported — too  many 
votes  to  buy.  Each  ash-cart  had  to  have  two  big  strong 
men  to  lift  the  heavy  ash-cans  that  one  slim  woman, 
perchance,  had  put  out;  and  if  one  of  the  giants  did 
the  lifting,  the  other  must  needs  sit  on  the  cart  seat 
and  hold  the  fiery  steed,  which  would  not  have  moved 
had  he  had  the  proverbial  firecracker  tied  to  his  tail! 
There  were  too  many  City  Departments  with  their 
hordes  of  open-palmed  inspectors;  too  many  superflu- 
ous municipal  projects  with  their  extravagant  demands 
upon  the  treasury;  too  many  governmental-salaried 
officials  with  too  little  to  do  to  spend  money  in  bring- 
ing up  mere  future  citizens.  Besides  which  there  were 
plenty  of  perfectly  good  penitentiaries  erected  with 
taxpayers'  money  ready  and  waiting  to  receive  these 
children  when  they  entered  the  world  from  out  the 
righteous  confines  of  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep! 
Not  that  this  Home  stood  out  as  worse  than  all  the 
rest,  for  it  was  no  worse.  A  little  more  religious, 


208     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

perhaps,  because  of  its  connection  with  the  Church,  but 
differing  scarcely  at  all  from  the  rest. 

Twelve  years  had  rolled  over  Marjory's  boy.  Un- 
dersized, frail,  timid,  with  smileless  face  in  which  two 
big,  somber  eyes  burned,  the  little  fellow  had  existed 
only  to  wonder  vaguely  about  the  world  outside  the 
gray  walls  that  served  to  bar  him  from  his  rights  as  a 
little  child.  By  nature  sensitive  and  shrinking,  he 
seemed  totally  unable  to  play  as  many  of  the  other 
children  played,  in  spite  of  their  miserable  surround- 
ings. He  was  not  many  years  old,  therefore,  before 
the  Home's  various  attendants  began  to  rebuke  his 
timid  silence  as  pure  sullenness,  and  his  sensitiveness 
as  stubbornness! 

So  plastic  is  the  growing  mind  of  a  child,  so  open 
to  thought  influence,  that  very  soon  Stanley's  silence 
really  did  begin  to  take  on  the  tinge  of  sullenness ;  and 
his  sensitive  thoughts,  thrown  back  upon  themselves, 
became  stubborn.  Yearning  for  affection  and  encour- 
agement, and  receiving  nothing  but  constant  criticism 
and  severe  punishment  for  the  slightest  infraction  of 
petty  rules,  his  stubbornness  rapidly  developed  into  a 
grim  enjoyment  of  giving  trouble.  Finding  then  that 
mischievousness,  it  mattered  not  how  innocent,  was 
always  punished,  he  soon  learned  to  lie  and  deceive 
or  in  any  other  manner  protect  himself,  while  his  wil- 
ful nature  steadily  grew,  making  him  more  and  more 
determined  to  have  his  way.  He  was  not  an  attrac- 
tive lad.  Vaguely  conscious  of  his  inability  to  charm, 
at  a  very  early  age  his  natural  reticence  attained  pro- 
portions seldom  met  with  in  children.  All  this  was 
before  he  had  reached  the  age  when  he  reasoned  about 
anything;  and  so,  even  though-  he  had  inherited  his 
father's  innate  honesty  and  love  of  fair  play,  these 
traits  were  buried  as  his  father's  had  become  buried 
beneath  the  bad  influence  of  a  bad  environment.  Pos- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    209 

sessed  with  a  sense  of  loyalty,  he  met  with  no  one 
to  call  it  forth.  Full  of  his  father's  love  of  the  great 
out-of-doors,  he  loathed  and  hated  the  prison  walls 
of  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep,  without  fully  re- 
alizing why  he  did  so.  Full,  also,  of  his  defiance, 
yet  inheriting  a  streak  of  moral  cowardice  from  his 
mother,  he  became  crafty,  afraid  of  indulging  openly 
in  the  independence  of  word  and  thought  which  had 
made  life  so  hard  for  his  father.  Not  one  ray  of 
sunshine  had  thus  far  come  into  the  poor  little  fel- 
low's life;  but  one  day  everything  seemed  entirely 
changed  for  him.  A  smaller  boy  in  the  Home,  a  par- 
tial cripple  both  in  body  and  mind,  openly  cried  when 
Stanley  was  beaten  for  a  misdemeanor;  and  on  Stan- 
ley's being  sent  to  bed,  supperless,  crawled  over  to 
him  after  the  lights  were  out.  Putting  his  misshapen 
arms  about  Stanley,  he  whispered  in  a  frightened 
voice :  "Don't  cry,  Big  Boy.  She  git  licked,  too,  when 
me  big  boy.  Don't  cry !  Me  kill  lions  and  chipmunks 
and  kangaroos  and  spiders !" 

He  wound  up  every  sentence  with  these  words. 
They  seemed  a  part  of  the  little  dwarfed  creature 
himself,  and  were  always  followed  by  a  blow  from  his 
small  fist,  which  was,  in  turn,  followed  by  a  shrill, 
foolish  laugh  of  delight,  conveying  the  idea  to  his 
hearer  that  his  poor  brain  was  convinced  that  he  had 
killed  all  four. 

His  act  toward  Stanley  was  a  small  thing.  It  meant 
little  on  the  part  of  the  defective  child;  but  to  Stan- 
ley, the  emotion-starved  lad,  it  meant  the  opening  up 
of  an  entirely  new  world — a  world  in  which  love  was 
the  ruler,  and  he  its  willing  subject. 

From  that  day  forth  there  was  seldom  a  moment 
during  his  waking  hours  that  Stanley  did  not  cham- 
pion the  rights  of  the  cuffed  and  despised,  the  scoffed-at 
and  ill-treated  little  hunchback  offspring  of  two  alco- 


210    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

holic  degenerates.  To  him  the  loose-mouthed,  vacant- 
eyed  face  of  the  crippled  youngster  was  beautiful. 
From  an  inborn  sense  of  loyalty,  coupled  with 
his  mother's  generally  suppressed,  but  nevertheless 
real  power  of  imagination,  Stanley  bestowed  upon 
this  queer  little  companion  all  the  virtues  of  which 
he  knew  or  could  conceive.  This  devotion  to  the 
Home's  jester  on  the  part  of  the  sullen,  silent  lad 
brought  down  upon  his  head  many  taunts  from 
the  other  children  and  much  undeserved  punish- 
ment from  the  nurses.  This  fact  in  no  way  altered 
Stanley's  attitude  toward  his  irresponsible  protege; 
and  it  was  because  of  this  younger  and  weaker  fellow-, 
orphan  that  Stanley  dreamed  oftener  than  ever  of  the 
world  outside  the  walls  which  held  him  prisoner.  He 
longed  to  free  the  little  fellow  from  the  taunts  and 
jibes  which  were  his  daily  lot. 

One  day  as  he  stood  peering  through  the  rails  of 
the  iron  fence  which  enclosed  the  barren  place  digni- 
fied by  the  name  of  "the  yard,"  a  plan  so  entrancing 
in  its  possibilities  that  it  fairly  took  his  breath  away 
popped  into  Stanley's  head.  Down,  way  down  in  the 
corner  nearest  the  river  he  had  noticed  that  one  of  the 
fence  rails  was  rusty  and  that  the  solder  holding  it 
in  place  was  quite  loose.  That  night,  after  every- 
thing was  still,  he  tried  it.  It  was  looser  even  than 
he  had  dared  to  hope.  Thereafter  every  night 
a  stealthy  little  figure  might  have  been  seen  making 
its  way  to  the  rail  and  carefully  shaking  it  at  its  bot- 
tom foundation.  Soon  Stanley's  perseverance  was 
rewarded  by  his  ability  to  break  the  rail  away  from 
the  solder  that  held  it;  and  using  his  entire  strength, 
he  pushed  it  far  to  one  side,  even  though  the  solder 
at  the  top  held.  Much  to  his  delight  he  found  the 
opening  was  large  enough  to  squeeze  his  body  through. 
He  would  escape!  He  would  go  out  into  that  green 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    211 

world  of  which  he  knew  so  little!  Taking  with  him 
the  poor  little  hunchback  that  everyone  treated  so 
cruelly,  they  both  would  live  the  life  of  the  other  boys 
whom  Stanley  had  seen  on  his  walks  through  the  park, 
boys  who  seemed  so  care-free  and  happy.  He  and  the 
little  "Lion,"  for  the  hunchback  had  been  dubbed  that 
by  those  who  tormented  him,  would  go  and  live  in 
Central  Park  where  everything  was  so  beautiful  and 
free.  The  troubled  thought  of  how  they  would  feed 
themselves  had  occasionally  flitted  through  Stanley's 
mind,  but  only  vaguely  and  for  a  very  few  moments 
at  a  time.  He  had  always  dismissed  it  as  one  that  was 
of  no  consequence.  The  birds,  the  squirrels,  all  out- 
door folk  found  ways  and  means  of  living,  he  argued 
— if  his  mild  and  occasional  thoughts  on  the  subject 
could  be  called  arguing — so  why  should  not  he  ? 

Flushed  with  triumph  Stanley  crept  back  to  the 
dormitory  where  he  and  the  Lion  lived,  and  silently 
going  to  the  latter's  cot,  picked  up  the  little  misshapen 
body.  Again  he  gained  the  darkness  of  the  yard  with- 
out having  been  perceived. 

At  the  far  corner  of  the  fence  he  put  his  little  charge 
down  and,  waking  him,  for  he  had  slept  as  a  baby 
does,  he  endeavored  to  explain  the  plan  for  their 
escape. 

"Say,  kid,"  he  said,  "don't  you  want  to  get  out  of 
this  place?  I  do.  See,  you  can  get  right  through 
that  rail  there.  Try  it,"  as  the  vacant  face  of  the  little 
half  wit  grinned  up  at  him  sleepily.  "Try  it,"  and 
Stanley  lifted  him  up,  putting  one  of  the  child's 
crooked  legs  through  the  opening  made  by  the  mis- 
placed rail.  "See,  see,  you  can  do  it!  Try!"  But 
the  Lion  was  obdurate  and  astride  the  coping  that  held 
the  rails  continued  to  grin  foolishly  up  at  Stanley. 

"There's  lions  and  chipmunks  and  kangaroos  out 
there,"  the  latter  whispered  in  encouragement,  a  pang 


212     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

of  fear  filling  him  lest  their  two  figures  be  seen  or 
heard  and  his  plans  spoiled  forever.  "There's  spiders 
too,  heaps  of  spiders !" 

The  words  worked  like  magic.  "Me  kill  lions  and 
chipmunks  and  kangaroos  and  spiders !"  the  child  cried, 
and  wriggling  his  deformed  body  through  the  opening, 
he  turned  and  whacked  his  fist  down  on  Stanley's  head, 
laughing  shrilly.  "Me  kill  lions  and  spiders!" 
"Whack!" 

"Of  course  you  can,"  Stanley  agreed,  himself 
wriggling  through,  though  with  more  difficulty. 
"Lion's  a  fine  boy — but  come  on,  let's  beat  it!"  as  he 
gained  the  street  outside.  Taking  hold  of  the  other 
boy's  hand  he  started  running  up  the  side  street  past 
the  alcove  with  its  twinkling  star. 

Free!  He  was  free!  Free  from  the  stench  of  the 
damp  dormitories,  and  the  foul  food.  Free  from  the 
frowning  gray  walls,  and  the  taunts  and  sneers  of  the 
other  children.  As  for  his  little  companion,  Stanley 
thought,  no  one  should  ever  poke  fun  at  his  deformi- 
ties again !  The  lad's  whole  better  nature  flared  with 
angry  loyalty  as,  running  forward,  he  recalled  the  suf- 
fering of  the  little  idiot  by  his  side.  Out  in  this  world 
of  freedom  they  were  both  fast  gaining  he  would  make 
the  little  hunchback  happy.  He  felt  absolutely  sure 
of  that.  Together  they  would  whoop  and  run  just 
like  other  boys.  Soon  they  would  have  roller  skates 
and  nice  clothes  and  good  things  to  eat.  He  had  once 
asked  one  of  the  nurses  in  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep  why  there  was  a  difference  ?  She  had  told  him 
in  no  gentle  language  that  bastards  must  be  content 
with  what  they  could  get!  He  did  not  know  in  the 
least  what  the  word  she  had  used  meant,  but  had 
argued  in  his  own  mind  that  such  a  title  was  given  only 
to  children  who  lived  in  Homes  like  the  one  in  which 
he  had  been  brought  up.  But  now,  now  he  and  the 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    213 

little  hunchback  were  surely  no  longer  bastards.  They 
were  free  just  like  other  boys,  and  at  this  conclusion 
Stanley  felt  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  exuberance 
of  confident  boyhood. 

It  was  comparatively  early  in  the  evening,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  night  seemed  ages  old  to  the  two 
little  runaways,  and  as  they  neared  Avenue  A  they 
came  upon  a  belated  fruit  cart  left  outside  a  nearby 
saloon,  in  which  the  vendor  was  refreshing  his  thirsty 
soul. 

The  Lion  spying  the  red  apples,  bright  in  the  light 
cast  by  the  street  lamp,  began  to  slobber  and  whine 
like  a  ravenous  animal.  It  was  part  of  his  mental 
lack  that  the  sight  of  food  should  always  affect  him  so, 
and  to  Stanley's  way  of  thinking,  that  was  the  only 
blot  on  an  otherwise  charming  and  lovable  child. 

"Apples,  me  wants  them.  Me  wants!"  the  Lion 
said  peremptorily. 

"No,  no,"  Stanley  coaxed,  nervous  because  of  their 
nearness  to  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep,  and  intui- 
tively realizing  it  would  be  the  greater  part  of  prudence 
to  quit  its  neighborhood  as  quickly  as  possible.  "You 
can  have  some  apples  when  we  get  to  the  Park." 

But  the  little  Lion,  refusing  to  follow,  dragged  upon 
Stanley's  hand,  his  big  eyes  rolling,  his  tongue  lolling 
out,  while  he  repeated  defiantly  and  with  unalterable 
stubbornness,  "Apples.  Me  wants,  me  wants !" 

"But  kid,  I'll  get  you  some  later.  Come  on!"  and  he 
yanked  the  smaller  boy  forward,  not  unroughly. 
"Quit  your  fooling  and  come  on!" 

"Apples,  me  wants,  me  wants,  me  wants!"  the  half 
wit  cried,  beginning  to  kick  and  struggle,  making 
horrible  noises  with  his  lolling  tongue. 

"Gee,"  Stanley  said,  his  anger  beginning  to  rise,  "if 
you  act  like  this  I'll  cuff  you!"  and  his  hand  raised 
itself  above  the  other's  malformed  head.  But  look- 


214     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ing  down  into  the  idiotic  convulsed  face  his  heart  mis- 
gave him,  and  all  the  tenderness  he  had  ever  felt  for 
the  queer  little  fellow  who  was  his  only  friend  on 
earth  came  uppermost. 

"Here,  kid,"  he  said,  "look !  I'll  lend  you  my  locket. 
See  what  a  pretty  locket  it  is !"  taking  off  the  locket  of 
queer  design  and  putting  it  about  the  other's  neck. 
"See  how  shiny  and  pretty  it  is!" 

The  Lion,  handling  it,  gazed  at  it  for  a  moment  and, 
ceasing  to  whine,  started  forward  with  Stanley.  Then 
espying  the  fruit  again  he  began  to  fairly  howl. 

"Oh,  gee,  don't  cry,  kid,"  Stanley  begged,  "I'll  give 
you  one,"  and  walking  over  to  the  pushcart  he  picked 
up  a  big  red  apple.  "Here !" 

Then  seeing  bananas  too,  he  took  one  of  those.  The 
fruit  looked  luscious.  Save  for  Christmas  and  occa- 
sional other  days  when  important  visitors  of  State  or 
Church  came  to  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep,  Stanley 
had  never  known  the  joy  of  eating  fruit;  so  that  as 
his  hand  went  out  to  pacify  the  child  who  was  under 
his  guidance  and  protection,  his  own  appetite  became 
suddenly  whetted.  Grabbing  the  apples  and  oranges 
that  lay  a  tempting  mass  of  bright  color  upon  the  cart, 
he  stuffed  his  and  the  Lion's  pockets  full.  In  his  mind 
there  was  no  more  thought  of  theft  than  if  he  had  been 
plucking  a  flower  from  his  mother's  garden,  had  he 
been  fortunate  enough  to  know  either;  and  so  when 
the  saloon  door  opposite  swung  open  and  a  big  burly 
Italian  came  reeling  out,  it  was  with  no  thought  of 
danger  that  Stanley  and  the  little  hunchback  slowly 
turned  from  the  wagon  and  started  on  their  way.  To 
the  alcohol-inflamed  mind  of  the  fruit  vendor,  how- 
ever, their  bulging  pockets  and  full  hands  screamed 
aloud  their  guilt. 

"Iddio!  Diavolo!"  the  vendor  thundered.  Then 
rushing  back  into  the  saloon  he  announced  excitedly 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     215 

to  those  assembled  about  the  bar,  "Thieves!  Bambini 
thieves!  Come  help-er  me  catch-er!" 

Other  inflamed  minds  caught  the  words,  and  Stan- 
ley and  his  companion  were  soon  surrounded  by  a 
liquor-crazed,  gesticulating  crowd  of  brutes,  who, 
though  confused  as  to  what  the  trouble  was,  vaguely 
realized  there  was  trouble  and  knew  there  would  be 
more! 

Stubbornly  standing  his  ground,  little  Stanley  re- 
fused to  answer  their  clamorous  questions.  He  had 
seen  many  of  the  Home's  employees  in  just  such  a 
hysterical  state,  as  he  thought,  when  anything  occurred 
to  upset  them ;  and  so  now  he  was  not  the  least  alarmed 
by  the  brutal  men,  until  a  familiar  face  suddenly 
showed  through  an  opening  in  the  crowd,  and  he  felt 
a  rough  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"So  it's  you,  is  it,  that's  after  gitting  thru  dat  broke 
rail?"  the  watchman  of  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep 

said.  "Hold  still  there,  you son  of  a ," 

foul  words  pouring  unchecked  from  the  obscene 
mouth,  "I  heard  the  row,  and  run  out  to  see  what 
was  happening  jest  after  you  sneaked.  Hell !"  and  he 
gave  Stanley  a  crack  over  the  head  with  his  stick. 
"And  I'll  be  blowed  if  it  ain't  the  nutty  one,  too!"  and 
he  caught  the  whimpering  Lion  by  the  nape  of  the 
neck.  Then  to  the  liquor-crazed  mob  he  said:  "Git 
outer  my  way.  It's  after  passing  I  am!"  and  half 
dragging,  half  kicking  the  boys  through  the  crowd,  he 
muttered  to  himself:  "Hell  of  a  mess  I'd  been  in  if 
these  two  had  got  away,"  and  dribbling  an  exgurgita- 
ting  black  and  noisome  verbal  abuse  of  the  boys,  this 
past  master  of  blasphemy,  seemingly  anxious  to  dis- 
play his  erudition  in  loathsome  corruption,  dragged 
his  two  captives  back  past  the  basket,  where  the  bell 
had  just  rung  and  a  woman's  figure  might  be  seen 
scurrying  away.  Driving  them  through  the  iron 


216     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

gates  he  gave  them  into  the  custody  of  the  matron 
who  awaited  them. 

To  run  away  from  that  Home — God  forgive  the 
cruel  irony  of  the  name! — was  a  serious  offense.  To 
influence  the  going  of  another,  a  still  more  serious 
offense;  but  thieving  in  the  open  where  a  reporter  from 
some  newspaper  might  discover  it,  and  thus  give  a 
black  eye  to  the  excellent  morals  taught  in  the  Home 
— well  that  was  adequately  punished  only  by  use  of  an 
underground  cell,  the  secret  place  wherein  one  piece  of 
bread  and  one-half  gill  of  water  a  day,  if  remembered, 
with  beatings  thrown  in,  were  the  victim's  portion. 
So  Stanley  was  forthwith,  night  though  it  was,  con- 
signed to  the  cell,  and  chained  there  to  an  iron  cross 
symbolical  of  Him  who  loved  little  children,  this  being 
one  of  the  mild  forms  of  the  Home's  punishment 
regime. 

It  was  here,  with  the  tortured  half-witted  cries  of  the 
one  person  who  had  touched  his  finer  nature  ringing 
in  his  ears,  that  Stanley  made  up  his  mind  that  the  next 
time  he  escaped  he  would  not  do  so  carelessly.  An 
older  boy  he  had  known  had  been  sent  from  the  Home 
to  a  place  called  a  Reform  School.  Stanley  did  not 
know  what  a  Reform  School  was,  but  now  decided 
that  anything  would  be  better  than  the  place  in  which 
he  was  kept.  He  would  follow  the  example  of  the 
older  boy.  In  hatred  and  burning  anger  against  his 
tormentors,  he  determined  that  he  would  do  any  and 
everything  in  his  power  to  inflict  trouble  upon  the 
matron,  the  nurses  and  the  officials  of  the  Home,  just 
as  this  older  boy  had  done.  Defiance  once  having 
awakened  in  him,  he  lost  his  former  timidity,  forgot 
his  craftiness  and  fear  of  being  caught,  and  with  his 
mind  and  heart  reeking  with  vengeance  and  revolt, 
planned  the  course  of  misconduct  destined  to  free  him 
from  the  Home. 

Smashing  a  chapel  window,  he  stole  in  and  set  fire 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    217 

to  the  place.  Then  copying  as  nearly  as  possible  the 
vile  language  of  the  watchman,  he  screamed  and  swore 
and  managed  to  work  himself  into  a  hysteria  in  which 
his  natural  reticence  had  no  part. 

Very  soon  this  blasphemous  conduct  had  its  desired 
effect.  He  was  pronounced  an  incorrigible  and  "with 
a  character,"  that  is,  written  word  from  the  matron 
stating  that  he  was  a  liar,  a  thief,  and  everything  de- 
rogatory that  could  possibly  be  said  about  a  boy  of  his 
age,  and  accompanied  by  the  information  that  he 
needed  the  closest  watching  and  confinement,  Stan- 
ley was  sentenced  by  the  court  to  the  State  Reform 
School,  the  ovule  which,  developed  by  Society,  pro- 
duces in  its  inmates  the  spirit  of  vengeance  rather 
than  the  purpose  of  right  living,  the  place  which  is  the 
progenitor  of  those  more  talked-of,  but  no  more  pro- 
lific, schools  of  crime,  the  Reformatory,  the  Peni- 
tentiary, and  State's  Prison. 

Thus  the  future  citizens  of  the  United  States  of 
America  are  educated,  equipped,  and  graduated  into 
a  class  which  is  popularly  recognized  to  be  a  menace 
to  Society,  in  addition  to  which  gratuitous  teachings 
these  citizens  are  deprived  of  all  liberty  and,  in  our 
professedly  free  country,  early  become  the  most  help- 
less of  slaves,  of  whom  time,  strength,  and  manhood 
itself  is  demanded  without  hope  of  remuneration  or 
reward.  In  the  name  of  reforming  we  go  on  accom- 
plishing just  the  opposite  thing,  because  the  spirit  of 
punishment  and  revenge  and  not  of  helpfulness 
toward  malefactors,  is  rife  among  us.  We  are  de- 
scendants of  Caliban,  and  while  claiming  to  have 
developed  ethically,  are  continually  dragging  down  and 
retarding  the  evolution  of  the  physical  minded  into 
the  spiritual  minded  man  by  using  cruelty  and  brute 
force  instead  of  the  force  of  reason  and  sympathy, 
which  latter  alone  can  make  of  us  a  better  race,  where- 
in the  criminal,  so  called,  will  have  no  place. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  late  afternoon  was  one  in  early  spring,  and  as 
Stanley,  in  the  custody  of  the  officer  who  was  con- 
ducting him  to  his  new  abode,  passed  out  of  the  bound- 
aries of  the  noise-infested  city,  and  the  open  country 
was  revealed  on  all  sides,  it  seemed  a  fairyland  indeed 
to  the  hitherto  walled-in,  orphanage-bred  child,  who, 
though  not  conscious  of  the  fact,  had  inherited  an  un- 
usual appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  woods  and  fields. 
He  longed  for  a  life  in  which  gray  walls  and  prison- 
like  rules  played  no  part.  Yet  of  such  a  life  he  knew 
naught,  nor  could  his  untaught  imagination  conceive 
its  actual  conditions.  His  lot  had  not  fallen  where  the 
bud  of  childhood  develops  into  the  flower  of  maturity 
in  the  purity  of  God's  sunlight  and  air,  untainted  by 
the  sins  of  man. 

A  winding  stream,  with  lily  bells  along  its  bank 
which  bent  down  to  gaze  at  their  own  reflection,  wound 
serpent-like  through  the  meadows  gay  with  bloom. 
The  sky  blushed  as  the  sun  kissed  her  good-night  be- 
hind the  hills.  Bird  answering  bird,  they  sang  their 
evening  songs,  sweet  but  subdued,  a  harmony  backed 
by  roseate  skies.  Little  children  sensing  in  the  air  the 
renewed  freedom  of  nature,  to  their  elders  exempli- 
fied by  bursting  bud,  romped  with  hilarious  excitement, 
none  of  them  troubled  by  any  thought  of  the  future. 

The  train  sped  on.  First  its  course  led  through 
thickly  populated  suburbs,  then  through  more  sparsely 
settled  ones,  until  reaching  the  open  country  it  seemed 
fairly  singing  its  way  toward  a  place  of  hope  and 
happiness.  Stanley,  in  spite  of  the  presence  of  his 
law-garbed  companion,  felt  his  heart  soaring  with  ex- 
pectation. Surely  if  the  Reform  School  to  which  he 
was  being  sent  was  over  beyond  the  purple  hills,  it 

218 


was  away  from  squalor  and  distress,  and  he  had  made 
no  mistake  in  deliberately  planning  such  misconduct 
as  to  result  in  his  escape  from  the  Home,  even  though 
that  escape  was  accompanied  with  disgrace  and  dire 
threats  of  what  the  future  held  in  store  for  him. 

Looking  from  the  window  at  the  beautiful  world 
about  him,  his  mind  could  find  no  room  for  apprehen- 
sion based  on  vague  tales  of  trouble  and  pain  awaiting 
him.  The  way  to  the  Reform  School  lay  through 
woods  and  meadows!  His  imagination  pictured  it  in 
a  more  and  more  idealized  light.  In  childish  im- 
patience he  longed  for  the  journey  to  end,  so  that  he 
might  find  himself  in  the  Castle  of  his  Dreams. 

This  wish  was  hardly  conceived  before  the  train 
stopped.  Guided  from  it  by  the  silent  officer,  Stanley 
found  before  him  a  small  village  of  cosy  cottages 
looking  home-like  indeed  in  their  setting  of  emerald 
hills.  The  now  golden-pink  stream  which  had  fol- 
lowed the  train's  winding  way  from  the  city's  outskirts 
took  a  sudden  rocky  turn,  and  dancing  and  sparkling, 
sent  a  dashing  spray  high  beneath  a  rustic  bridge. 

"Ninety-nine,  come  with  me,"  Stanley's  companion 
said. 

Obeying  him  the  lad  soon  found  himself  inside  a 
wagon  built  like  a  box,  through  the  sides  and  top  of 
which  no  light  penetrated.  The  outdoors  could  be 
seen  only  through  the  grated  end  at  which  he  had 
entered  and  which  was  now  securely  closed. 

At  the  unexpected  gloom  of  this  queer  vehicle  and 
the  officer's  desertion  of  him,  coupled  with  his  instruc- 
tions to  its  driver  that  "Ninety-nine  was  an  incorrigible 
and  must  be  closely  watched,"  Stanley's  heart  misgave 
him.  But  having  been  used  all  his  life  to  bodily  re- 
straint and  abuse,  and  unused  to  courtesy  or  kindness, 
he  was  not  affected  as  would  have  been  a  child  who 
had  been  brought  up  in  normal  surroundings. 


220     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

The  driver  silently  regained  his  box  and  the  wagon 
rattled  away.  Stanley  forgot  his  momentary  fear  and, 
gazing  through  the  wagon's  barred  end,  eagerly 
watched  the  scenes  which  they  passed.  To  the  nature- 
starved  boy  the  traversing  of  the  road  in  its  spring- 
time dress  of  dogwood  trees  with  full-blown  orchards 
on  either  side  was  the  most  wonderful  adventure  in 
his  life.  A  longing  to  share  it  with  the  Lion  caused 
a  slow,  strange  lump  to  rise  in  his  throat;  and  his 
aspiration  to  free  the  little  hunchback  from  further 
pain  made  him  redouble  his  determination  to  some  day 
get  the  little  boy  out  from  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep.  Reaching  the  Reform  School,  a  beautiful 
place  doubtless,  where  flowers  bloomed,  he  would 
surely  find  someone  to  help  him  in  this  aim. 

But  at  that  moment  Stanley's  thoughts  were  cut 
short  by  the  wagon's  sudden  stopping  in  front  of  a  big, 
bare  building.  Its  dingy,  gaunt  face  stared  out  upon 
the  world,  while  from  it  trees  and  flowers  stood  apart. 

"Git  out!  We're  here,"  t^e  driver  commanded 
Stanley.  And  jumping  down  from  his  box  he  un- 
locked the  wagon's  grated  end.  "No  monkey  busi- 
ness! The  officer  give  you  a  character,  so  I  know 
about  you.  Git !"  And  as  a  delicate  attention  to  the 
newcomer,  the  driver  yanked  Stanley  from  the  wagon 
and,  cuffing  him,  set  him  down. 

At  the  noise  of  their  arrival  another  man,  not  unlike 
the  driver,  yet  in  aspect  more  brutal,  appeared  as  if  by 
magic  at  the  door.  He  whispered  a  few  moments  with 
the  driver,  and  then  without  the  formality  of  a  saluta- 
tion, gave  Stanley  a  push  forward. 

"Go  inside,  damn  you!  This  ain't  no  Fifth  Avenoo 
boardin'  school.  This  here's  a  Reform  School.  No 
dilly-dallying  allowed,"  he  said.  "Bill,"  jerking  his 
finger  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  driver,  "has  given 
me  your  character,  all  right!"  And  shoving  Stanley 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     221 

over  the  doorsill  he  followed  him  into  the  dismal  hall. 

With  a  chilling  of  his  heart  so  intense  that  it  was 
numbing  to  his  mentality,  all  of  Stanley's  preconceived 
ideas  of  the  Reform  School  vanished.  His  newly 
kindled  spark  of  life's  greatest  stimulant,  hope,  died, 
and  in  its  place  there  was  born  in  him  a  feeling  of 
hatred  and  desperation  very  akin  to  the  one  which  had 
filled  him  when,  chained  and  unable  to  move,  he  had 
received  his  last  beating  in  the  Home.  And  he  had 
deliberately  planned  his  coming  to  this  new  place.  In 
the  superior  wisdom  of  twelve  years  he  had  been  fool 
enough  to  think  that  outside  the  walls  of  the  orphanage 
there  was  some  small  degree  of  boyhood's  rights  await- 
ing him. 

"Go  in  there,"  the  repulsive-looking  attendant  com- 
manded. 

Stepping  through  a  door  which  the  man  had  in- 
dicated by  a  shove  in  its  direction,  Stanley  was  con- 
fronted by  a  third  man.  Here  again  a  whispered 
conversation  was  held,  and  addressing  him  the  uni- 
formed official  said : 

"Young  man,  you've  come  to  us  with  a  character. 
Understand  ?  You  are  not  very  big,"  looking  Stanley 
up  and  down,  "but  you'll  be  smaller  still  if  you  don't 
follow  our  rules.  Bread  and  water  for  the  infractious, 
and  mighty  little  of  it — mighty  little."  Then  turning 
to  the  guard  who  had  brought  Stanley  before  him : 

"Take  him  to  the  dormitory.  See  that  his  clothes 
are  locked  up  and  that  he  gets  in  bed."  Then  again 
turning  to  Stanley  he  added:  "You  are  to  obey  the 
guard  absolutely.  He  reports  to  me  every  day;  and  if 
you  are  disobedient,  I'll  also  attend  to  your  punish- 
ment. Do  you  understand?" 

At  these  words  all  of  Stanley's  sullenness  came 
uppermost.  He  did  not  answer,  and  without  more  ado 
was  led  away  to  the  dormitory  where  dozens  of  other 


222     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

boys  were  undressing,  and  as  they  did  so,  handing 
their  clothes  to  a  guard,  who  in  turn  locked  the  gar- 
ments in  a  closet  for  the  night. 

Of  course  this  custom  of  treating  all  children  as  if 
they  were  dangerous  degenerates  or  lunatics,  and 
never  for  a  single  moment  appealing  to  their  honor, 
did  not  seem  so  unreasonable  to  Stanley  as  it  would 
have  done  to  a  more  normal  boy.  A  Reform  School, 
however,  is  supposed  to  be,  not  a  place  of  punishment, 
but  a  place  of  constructive  correction,  where  the  child 
who  has  had  no  proper  home  training  can  be  taught 
to  be  manly  and  self-reliant,  where  he  is  taught  a  trade, 
and  finally  develops  through  corrective  discipline  and 
good  influence  into  a  useful,  law-abiding  member  of 
Society !  These  schools  are  often  called  Protectorates, 
thereby  implying  their  protection  over  homeless  and 
friendless  children.  Yet  they  employ  the  worst 
methods  of  penology.  Is  it  likely  that  an  inmate  of 
such  a  school  will  become  a  useful  member  of  Society 
if  the  system  in  vogue  in  prisons  is  applied  to  him? 
Yet  that  is  what  is  being  done  in  practically  all  of  the 
so-called  Reform  Schools  and  Protectorates,  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  ones  run  along  different  and  more 
sane  lines  stand  out  today  as  so  radical  that  the  papers 
devote  many  news  columns  to  describing  them.  It  is 
the  unusual  and  not  the  usual,  the  abnormal  and  not 
the  normal,  which  attracts  the  attention  of  the  people 
and  the  press.  In  the  vernacular  of  a  big  city  daily : 
"If  a  dog  bites  a  man  the  fact  is  of  little  interest,  but 
if  a  man  bites  a  dog,  that  makes  a  'first  liner'  news 
item."  And  so  it  is  with  every  phase  of  life.  The 
things  we  are  accustomed  to  do  not  impress  us. 

Having  succeeded  in  undressing  himself  Stanley 
handed  his  clothes  to  the  guard,  first  having  mali- 
ciously fixed  a  pin  in  them  in  such  a  way  as  to  prick 
the  guard  when  he  took  hold  of  them.  Stanley  was 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    223 

fast  learning  the  lesson  of  cruelty  which  he  saw  all 
about  him. 

"Here  you — little  devil,  what  yer  got  around  your 
neck?"  this  gentle  teacher  of  future  good  citizens  de- 
manded, pointing  to  Stanley's  locket  of  queer  design. 
"Give  it  to  me!  No  joolry  allowed.  Where'd  you 
steal  it,  anyhow?  Take  it  off!"  and  he  reached  out 
his  brawny  paw. 

Stanley  backed  away.  His  hand  convulsively  hid 
the  locket.  The  man  made  a  lunge  forward,  while  the 
other  boys  in  the  dormitory  looked  on  with  the  inter- 
est of  unsympathetic  young  males  who  greet  anything 
novel  with  delight;  and  the  guard  shouted: 

"You .  You'll  learn  to  mind  me !" 

and  he  would  have  floored  Stanley  save  for  the  boy's 
agility  and  nimble  wit.  Jumping  aside  as  the  man's 
brutal  fist  reached  the  spot  where  he  had  been  stand- 
ing, Stanley  looked  up  at  him,  his  somber  eyes  burn- 
ing. Having  once  before,  in  the  Home,  tried  the  same 
lie  on  a  like  occasion  he  now  said : 

"This  locket  was  blessed  by  the  Mother  Mary.  It 
was  tied  about  my  neck  by  a  Holy  Father.  A  Sinless 
Sister  told  me  I  must  always  wear  it,  and  that  it  would 
mean  one  thousand  years  in  purgatory  to  anyone  who 
took  it  off." 

The  guard's  hands  fell  to  his  side;  then  he  crossed 
himself.  "Git  in  bed!"  he  demanded  harshly,  not  en- 
tirely believing  the  boy,  but  afraid  not  to  pay  heed  to 
such  warning. 

Stanley  crawled  into  the  foul  infested  bunk  which 
was  assigned  to  him.  The  guard  put  the  lights  out; 
and  stunned  and  heartsore  the  little  newcomer  pro- 
ceeded to  spend  endless  nightmare-ridden  yet  wakeful 
hours,  too  destructive  in  their  influence  to  be  entitled 
to  any  real  place  in  the  golden  age  of  childhood.  As 
he  could  sleep  little,  he  spent  his  time  in  thinking  up 


224     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ways  and  means  of  giving  the  guard  trouble  and  physi- 
cal pain.  He  would  get  even  with  him! 

The  sun  was  not  up  the  next  morning  before  Stanley 
was  awakened  by  a  bell.  Jumping  up,  he  washed  by  a 
bell.  His  clothes  were  given  to  him  and  he  dressed 
by  a  bell,  just  as  the  other  boys  were  doing.  Filing 
into  the  mess  hall  at  the  signal  of  a  bell  and,  following 
the  Reform-bred  rule  of  snatching  whatever  sour 
bread  he  could  from  a  central  dish,  he  was  commanded 
to  join  in  a  muttered  and  sullen  grace  at  the  sound  of 
a  bell. 

After  washing  down  this  horrid  meal  with  the  aid 
of  a  black  liquid  dignified  by  the  name  of  coffee,  at  the 
signal  of  a  bell  he  was  sent  into  a  long,  low  room, 
dimly  lighted  and  poorly  ventilated,  there  to  study  and 
recite  his  lessons  for  one  hour.  This  hour  furnished 
the  education  so  much  bragged  about  by  the  school 
officials  and  for  which  taxpayers  were  spending  thou- 
sands of  dollars  annually.  After  that  he  sat  long 
hours  at  a  shoe-lasting  bench,  and  later,  after  a  week 
or  so,  he  was  taught  to  re-bottom  chairs,  which  accom- 
plishment was  followed  by  instruction  in  half  a  dozen 
other  low-pay  jobs.  Did  he  but  show  any  particular 
aptitude  for  some  form  of  labor  higher  up  in  the  indus- 
trial scale,  he  was  frowned  upon  as  one  who  thought 
himself  too  good  for  the  work  the  Lord  had  planned 
for  such  as  he.  This  was  the  teaching  of  a  trade  which 
he  got. 

In  this  routine,  bells  and  all,  Stanley  could  see  little 
difference  from  his  life  at  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep;  and  yet  in  the  menacing  attitude  of  the  guards 
standing  about  he  realized  that  here  he  was  watched 
far  more  closely  and  treated  with  even  less  personal 
consideration  than  had  been  the  case  in  his  former 
abode. 

It  was  not  many  weeks  before  Stanley  discovered 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    225 

that  in  the  estimation  of  the  guards  and  ignorant 
teachers,  at  least,  an  "incorrigible,"  an  inmate  "with  a 
character,"  had  no  human  rights  at  all,  but,  like  a  con- 
vict, is  a  legalized  slave.  Soon  he  was  made  to  un- 
derstand that  if  he  would  gain  any  comforts  or 
privileges  while  being  reformed,  he  must  be  entirely 
unresisting  in  these  men's  hands.  It  is  the  policy  of 
our  country  to  hire  low-priced  masters  for  our  child 
slaves.  Though  accounted  rich  among  the  nations  of 
the  earth,  our  country  is  too  poor  to  provide  well-paid 
monitors  in  the  institutions  for  the  making  of  men! 
The  dreary  months  dragged  on,  while  Stanley  in 
company  with  the  other  boys  lived  out  a  drab  existence, 
made  interesting  to  him  only  in  so  far  as  he  could  give 
pain  to  some  guard  or  other.  Some  of  the  older  boys 
of  his  acquaintance,  recognizing  his  latent  talent  for 
craftiness,  gave  him  lessons  in  "snitching,"  or  the  art 
of  picking  pockets,  having  been  themselves,  before 
their  apprehension  and  committal,  the  clever  tools 
of  professional  "Fagins,"  those  men  who  engage 
in  the  profession  of  teaching  boys  how  to  become 
thieves.  These  pocket-picking  lessons  were  indulged 
in  among  the  boys  as  the  most  interesting  of  games, 
and  so  it  was  that  Stanley  early  became  proficient  in 
this  line.  Yet  the  lad  was  often  seen  playing  in  local 
baseball  matches,  or  whooping  and  running  like  the 
happy  and  innocent  boys  unfettered  by  the  State.  The 
fact  was  that  the  Reform  School's  baseball  team  was 
conducted  for  the  benefit  of  any  possible  citizens  who 
might  perchance  take  the  trouble  to  investigate  the 
school's  methods  of  recreation!  It  was  the  humane 
cloak  that  hid  inhumanity.  On  the  occasion  of  these 
joyous  baseball  games  Stanley's  animal  spirits  would 
involuntarily  show  themselves.  It  is  hard  even 
for  restraint  and  cruelty  to  destroy  entirely  the 
natural  energy  of  youth,  and  his  nature  as  yet 


had  not  become  wholly  perverted.  On  the  bleach- 
ers the  deacons  of  local  churches,  trusting  souls 
who  abhor  investigations,  watched  Stanley  and  the 
other  boys  with  benign  and  fatherly  expressions. 
On  these  bleachers,  too,  sat  local  politicians,  blindly 
virtuous,  loudly  talking  of  the  comforts  and  ad- 
vantages which  the  boys  received  at  this  school. 
They  hinted  at  the  fact  that  all  these  comforts  and 
advantages  had  been  brought  about  by  them,  thus 
shrewdly  obtaining  ballots  for  their  next  election. 
Voteless  women,  whose  energies  were  expended  upon 
sewing  circles  and  oyster  suppers  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Hottentots,  and  who  felt  their  place  was  in  the  home 
and  not  meddling  in  politics  pertaining  to  motherless 
children,  smiled  and  patted  themselves  upon  the  back, 
rejoicing  in  the  perfection  of  this  splendid  educational 
institution.  Had  these  same  patronesses  and  trustees 
but  taken  the  time  and  trouble  to  find  out,  they  would 
have  discovered  that  Stanley  was  more  often  doing 
duty  on  the  "guard  line"  than  playing  ball,  or  whoop- 
ing and  running  in  the  sunshine.  He  seldom  had  the 
time  or  the  inclination  to  whoop  and  run,  or  in  any 
other  way  display  the  natural  exuberance  of  boy- 
hood. The  "guard  line"  is  one  of  our  refined  twen- 
tieth century  barbarities.  It  was  invented  for  the 
purpose  of  "putting  the  fear  of  God  in  the  boys' 
hearts/'  or,  in  truthfully  expressed  English,  destroy- 
ing absolutely  any  spirits  or  spontaneity  which  may 
happen  to  be  left  in  a  boy  who  has  fallen  beneath  the 
chastising  hand  of  the  Law!  After  standing  on  a 
crack  of  the  floor  with  hands  tied  behind  one's  back 
for  at  least  six,  or  sometimes  twelve  hours,  one's 
physical  endurance  is  apt  to  break.  If  this  happened, 
as  it  often  did  in  Stanley's  case,  and  the  culprit  fainted, 
a  club  or  pistol  butt  administered  on  the  head  or  on  the 
face,  or  wherever  else  it  happened  to  hit,  was  the  reviv- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    227 

ing  process  used.  If  perchance  while  on  such  duty 
Stanley  would  fall  asleep,  a  fond  and  loving  guardian 
of  his  morals  stuck  a  pin  in  him  to  wake  him  up !  Or 
if,  again,  while  so  standing  Stanley  cried  out  or  begged 
for  mercy,  he  was  promptly  cast  into  the  school  dun- 
geon, there  to  have  the  straight- jacket  applied,  that 
effective  apparatus  in  vogue  in  prisons  for  the  making 
of  embittered  criminals.  This  instrument  of  torture, 
invented  since  the  days  of  the  Inquisition,  though  it 
would  have  done  credit  to  the  minions  of  Charles  V.,  is 
made  of  a  very  heavy  piece  of  canvas  cut  to  fit  the 
human  body,  and  with  heavy  cords  running  through 
brass  eyelets  down  each  side.  He  who  is  having  his 
criminal  character  turned  into  that  of  a  strong  and 
upright  one,  is  commanded  to  lie  face  down  on  the 
floor.  While  he  is  in  this  position  the  jacket  is  put 
on  him.  The  guard  then  places  his  own  foot  in  the 
middle  of  the  culprit's  back,  and  thus  securing  lever- 
age, draws  the  rope  taut.  A  man  may  be  killed  in  this 
manner  within  a  very  few  moments ;  but  the  guards  in 
a  Reform  School  or  in  the  higher  grades  of  Penal 
Institutions — ever  careful  not  to  go  too  far — seldom 
do  more  than  bind  their  victim  so  tight  that  his  hands 
and  feet  become  numb.  Stanley  was  many  times  left 
in  this  jacket  for  twenty-four  hours  at  a  time  in  the 
dark  coldness  of  the  dank  dungeon.  When  the  jacket 
was  removed  he  lay  writhing  in  agony  upon  the  floor 
as  circulation  returned  to  his  legs  and  arms.  If  this 
treatment  was  not  applied,  some  other  of  like  fiendish- 
ness  was,  or  else  he  was  simply  left  forgotten  in  his 
dungeon  until  his  delirious  "bug-house"  screams 
threatened  to  be  heard  beyond  the  school's  righteous 
walls. 

After  several  years  of  this  sort  of  life,  in  which  his 
every  vicious  instinct  grew  into  an  alarming  love  of 
lying,  cheating,  fighting,  and  managing  to  do  the 


228     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

guards  a  dirty  trick,  often  escaping  detection  but  more 
often  caught,  the  obscenely  ugly  guard  one  day  de- 
manded something  of  Stanley  which  would  be  incon- 
ceivable to  the  brutes.  With  the  indignant  horror 
born  of  a  sexually  clean  mind  which  had  stayed  clean 
in  spite  of  inflicted  mental  and  physical  suffering  and 
moral  somnolence,  Stanley  refused  to  obey,  and  was 
forthwith  reported  to  the  head  of  the  institution  as 
being  disobedient,  unruly,  defiant  and  incorrigible  to 
the  last  degree ! 

There  was  thereupon  heaped  upon  him  a  series  of 
such  frightful,  continuous,  and  spectacular  punish- 
ments that  even  some  of  the  other  guards  could  not 
bear  the  sight.  There  were  arguments  among  them — 
then  the  truth  coming  to  the  attention  of  some  of  the 
older  boys,  a  formidable  school  riot  ensued. 

During  the  riot  Stanley,  with  his  now  ever  present 
craftiness,  managed  to  plunge  a  knife  into  the  guard 
who  had  so  continually  insulted  and  mistreated  him. 
In  spite  of  the  confusion  which  prevailed  he  was  de- 
tected and  apprehended;  and  desperately  confessing, 
was,  after  a  short  court  trial,  ordered  transferred  to 
the  Reformatory,  a  higher  grade  of  the  Reform 
School,  in  which  America's  system  of  educating  her 
criminal  classes  continues  to  be  accomplished  under  the 
guise  of  reform. 


More  bitter  and  revengeful  than  ever,  Stanley 
arrived  within  a  few  days  at  the  Reformatory,  or  High 
School  of  the  present  day  system  of  penology.  This 
institution,  larger  and  of  stronger  masonry  perhaps, 
was  nevertheless  much  like  those  others  in  which  the 
lad  had  been  brought  up.  Situated  in  the  most  barren 
and  unattractive  spot  that  could  readily  be  found,  it 
was  just  the  next  step  in  his  progress  of  misery. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    229 

Wards  of  the  State,  or  offenders  against  the  State,  or 
merely  unfortunate  folk  convicted  through  circumstan- 
tial evidence,  they  are  one  and  all  so  despised,  con- 
sidered so  unfit  for  association  with  their  fellow-men, 
that  they  must  needs  be  cast  as  far  as  possible  out  of 
the  path  trod  by  Society.  And  so  our  public  and  penal 
institutions  are  located  accordingly.  In  these  institu- 
tions the  morally  sick  among  us  are  put  huddled 
together,  irrespective  of  physical  or  mental  shortcom- 
ings ;  to  the  self-righteous,  unprogressive,  and  non-con- 
structive mind  of  the  average  citizen,  they  constitute 
the  moral  leper  colonies  of  our  civilization.  Yet  unpun- 
ished except  by  the  laws  of  nature,  which  demand  toll 
even  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation,  another 
class  of  lepers  walks  about  among  us,  oftentimes  un- 
noticed, rarely  shunned,  sowing  wild  oats  for  others  to 
reap. 

But  Stanley  had  not  been  attaining  all  his  life  his 
State  imposed  knowledge  of  crime  for  nothing.  And 
so  on  entering  the  Reformatory  he  decided  to  change 
his  tactics.  In  his  experience  incorrigible  boys  did 
not  receive  punishment  commensurate  with  their 
deserts.  Those  boys  in  fact  who  oftenest  managed  to 
escape  punishment  were  generally  the  worst  boys. 
They  simply  saw  to  it  that  their  methods  were  such 
that  they  were  not  caught.  This  distorted  lesson  in 
the  survival  of  the  fittest,  one  which  taught  cunning, 
craftiness,  and  hypocrisy,  he  had  begun  to  learn  quite 
early  in  life.  Yet  because  his  better  nature  would  in- 
voluntarily come  uppermost,  Stanley  had  not  attained 
cleverness  in  its  application.  The  only  real  cleverness 
he  had  thus  far  exhibited  was  that  connected  with  his 
daily  lessons  in  picking  pockets.  Henceforth,  he  de- 
cided, he  would  in  no  way  try  to  help  a  fellow  inmate, 
nor  would  he  struggle  against  the  brutal  discipline  of 
the  guards.  Questioning  no  rule  of  the  Reformatory, 


230    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

he  would  become,  to  all  appearances,  docile  and  sub- 
servient. He  would  acquiesce  in  any  and  every  com- 
mand. He  realized  that  the  less  initiative  a  boy 
had,  the  more  apt  he  was  to  gain  marks  for  good  be- 
havior. If  lacking  enough  in  character,  that  is  in  the 
eyes  of  the  officials,  he  would  come  to  be  looked  upon 
almost  as  a  pet;  and  if  parole  was  subsequently  re- 
quested, he  was  more  apt  to  gain  it  quickly.  There- 
fore Stanley  determined,  by  stealth  and  hypocrisy,  to 
gain  his  freedom.  When  once  he  had  gained  that 
freedom — well,  that  was  another  matter! 

Soon  after  Stanley  had  reached  this  decision  a  relig- 
ious fanatic,  a  white  bearded  old  evangelist  with  a 
Biblical  vocabulary  of  hell-and-damnation  punctuating 
his  fire-and-brimstone  doctrines,  became  a  visiting 
angel  to  the  Reformatory.  For  many  years,  in  fact 
ever  since  his  own  dear  boy,  "the  bone  of  his  bone,  the 
flesh  of  his  flesh,"  had  heaped  shame  upon  his  head, 
this  devout  man,  Deacon  Dennison,  giving  his  life  to 
the  redeeming  of  other  men's  sons,  had  been  traveling 
around  preaching  the  terrors  of  purgatory  to  young 
offenders. 

Working  upon  his  own  emotions,  and  thus  theirs, 
he  made  converts  in  job  lots.  These  converts  once 
having  confessed  their  sins  and  joined  the  church,  the 
Deacon's  job  was  done;  and  in  self -satisfied  compla- 
cency he  would  move  on  to  the  next  town,  leaving  his 
emotionally  stirred  converts  the  bewildered  victims  of 
a  doctrine  in  which  there  was  no  more  spirituality  or 
practicality  than  that  which  had  governed  his  own 
sanctimonious  life. 

Each  year  a  group  of  inmates  of  the  Reformatory 
became  thus  converted.  Besides  acting  as  a  stimulat- 
ing and  alluring  spot  of  excitement  in  their  otherwise 
drab  lives,  it  stood  them  in  excellent  stead  in  working 
for  a  parole.  There  was  nothing  that  warmed  the 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     231 

cockles  of  the  officials'  or  the  trustees'  hearts  like  a 
scene  wherein  these  clever  sheep  separated  themselves 
from  the  goats. 

It  did  not  take  Stanley  long  to  realize  that  a  profes- 
sion of  Christianity  would  be  the  cleverest  and  quickest 
way  to  gain  his  freedom.  Going  to  Deacon  Dennison 
on  the  occasion  of  his  next  visit,  together  they  wrestled 
with  his  unholy  spirit  until,  with  strenuous  words  of 
exhortation,  it  was  subdued,  and  Stanley's  conversion 
became  a  dramatic  fact. 

The  walls  of  the  Reformatory  were  soon  left  behind 
him.  With  fatherly  advice  from  some  and  sneering 
prophecies  from  others  of  the  guards,  he  found  himself 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  out  in  a  world  where  there 
were  no  walls  to  confine  him.  It  mattered  not  that  he 
had  been  given  little  training  to  meet  the  strange  and 
untried  conditions  confronting  him.  He  was  only  a 
foundling — a  child  of  the  people — a  soul  which  had 
been  brought  into  the  world  without  volition  on  his 
part,  and  had  ever  since  been  a  drain  on  the  purse  of 
the  State.  Yet  he  must  "make  good" ! 

In  the  Reformatory,  that  place  where  parents  com- 
placently shift  personal  responsibility  for  other  people's 
children  upon  governmental  shoulders  without  a 
thought  for  the  homeless  ones'  future,  though  regard- 
ing their  own  children's  future  as  all-important,  Stan- 
ley had  piled  up,  mountain  high,  marks  of  good 
behavior  through  deception.  But  he  was  a  member  of 
the  church! 

He  was  over  seventeen  and  could  rebottom  chairs, 
resole  shoes,  dig,  and  work  in  a  sweat-shop,  no  doubt. 
That  he  happened  to  have  a  mentality  created  for 
higher  things  made  no  difference.  Those  were  the 
trades  taught  him,  and  he  was  expected  to  use  them 
gratefully.  Did  they  prove  too  unremunerative  to 
feed  him,  then  he  must  starve.  Positions  of  trust  are 


232     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

not  open  to  those  whom  the  State  has  ''reformed" ! 
When  a  boy  has  once  become  an  inmate  of  a  Reforma- 
tory his  name  is  irretrievably  smirched.  But  if  he 
changes  that  name  in  order  to  start  life  afresh,  he  may 
be  cast  in  prison  for  that  act  alone. 

Brawn  and  not  brain  is  what  is  expected  and  wanted 
by  the  public  from  an  ex-inmate.  If  through  lack  of 
proper  food,  fresh  air,  or  as  a  result  of  brutal  treat- 
ment he  had  been  robbed  of  his  brawn,  that  fact  does 
not  count.  Even  if  he  has  by  chance  really  been  re- 
formed, and  longs  with  all  the  manhood  and  pride  in 
him  to  "go  straight,"  such  a  longing  avails  him  little. 
He  is  of  the  "criminal  class",  and  as  such  must  accept 
any  sort  of  a  position  he  can  get,  perhaps  through  the 
instrumentality  of  some  organization  for  this  purpose. 
He  must  be  eternally  thankful  to  Society  for  this  privi- 
lege; and  not  caring  how  often  the  police  make  him 
lose  his  job  through  their  constant  houndings,  he 
must  report  once  a  month  to  the  Parole  Officer.  In 
order  to  keep  his  freedom,  it  is  essential  that  he  have 
an  honest  job.  Through  his  employer's  signature 
attesting  this  fact,  he  must  convince  the  doubting 
officer  that  he  is  "going  straight."  If  he  does  all  these 
things  and  is  never  seen  in  bad  company,  or  under 
suspicious  circumstances,  he  may — and  he  may  not — 
live  out  the  term  of  his  parole  without  returning  to  the 
Reformatory ! 

But  Stanley  had  learned  well  his  lessons  in  deceit. 
Though  he  proceeded  to  work  during  the  day,  he  man- 
aged somehow,  in  spite  of  watchful  officers,  to  sur- 
reptitiously join  a  well-known  Fagin's  gang  in  the 
underworld,  and  at  odd  hours  practiced  upon  Society 
that  which  Society  had  paid  to  have  him  taught ! 

Being  exceedingly  clever  he  was  thus  able  to  live 
out  the  time  before  his  majority,  when  his  sentence  at 
the  Reformatory  ended.  But  even  a  clever  pickpocket 
is  seldom  safe,  provided  of  course  he  is  not  a  particu- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     233 

lar  friend  of  the  police  or  a  member  of  a  family  whose 
financial  status  is  good!  It  was  not  long  after  this 
therefore,  when  Stanley,  in  spite  of  his  cleverness, 
entered  perforce  a  still  higher  school — the  Peniten- 
tiary, which  is  the  preparatory  grade  for  our  highest 
curriculum  in  crime — State's  Prison ! 

It  was  at  this  stage  in  his  life  that  a  totally  new 
thought  came  to  him.  Under  the  guise  of  right — or 
its  supposed  mate,  religion — he  had  beheld  only  un- 
righteousness and  hypocrisy.  Hidden  by  reform  he 
had  witnessed  human  beings  degraded  until  they  be- 
came bestial.  Yet  he  knew  intuitively  that  right  must 
prevail  in  the  world,  and  therefore  began  to  won- 
der whether,  if  he  lived  honestly  and  rightly,  he 
could  not  be  really  free?  He  was  sick  of  the  shadow 
of  prisons;  and  though  he  had  no  higher  motive  than 
his  own  physical  well-being,  he  determined  that  upon 
his  being  freed  from  the  Penitentiary  he  would  really 
try  to  live  a  life  of  honesty  according  to  the  best  lights 
he  had. 

The  characteristic  of  hope,  derived  from  his  father, 
yet  seldom  coming  uppermost  in  him,  now  blossomed 
again.  He  felt  much  as  he  had  on  that  day,  so  many 
miserable  years  before,  when  having  succeeded  in  being 
sent  from  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep  he  had  looked 
forward  to  a  life  of  happiness  in  the  Reform  School. 
At  the  conscious  memory  of  how  bitterly  he  had  been 
disappointed  then,  his  heart  now  misgave  him ;  but  only 
temporarily.  Then,  he  argued,  he  had  not  tried  to  live 
right.  He  had  even  gained  his  release  from  one  in- 
stitution and  his  entrance  into  another  through  pur- 
poseful wrong  doing.  Surely  if  a  man  honestly  tried 
to  live  right  and  thus  better  himself,  he  must  succeed ! 
He  would  go  back  to  the  Home  and  free  the  little 
Lion.  With  that  poor  creature's  love  and  loyalty  to 
act  as  an  incentive,  he  would,  he  knew  he  would, 
succeed ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

MARJORY,  under  the  wing  of  her  ambitious  mother 
and  with  her  maiden  name  to  protect  her  from  "what 
people  would  say,"  had  been  living  a  life  of  ease  and 
apparent  happiness  on  the  proceeds  of  the  discovery 
made  by  the  mining  expert  before  Stanley's  birth. 
Returning  to  their  old  home  in  Virginia  she  had  lived 
there,  never  daring  to  touch  any  part  of  the  money 
which  she  had  received  from  Sam  Simmons's  dying 
hands.  She  had  told  no  one,  not  even  her  mother, 
of  that  experience,  nor  of  the  child's  living  existence. 
Little  Stanley,  after  her  one  visit  to  him,  had  dropped 
out  of  her  life. 

She  had  in  no  way  attempted  to  communicate  with 
her  husband.  He  was  as  dead  in  her  estimation  as  he 
was  in  that  of  his  country.  Her  mother  thought,  as 
everyone  else  did,  that  Marjory  had  put  the  whole 
miserable  experience  of  her  marriage  behind  her.  She 
was  still  young;  she  was  pretty.  Life  had  not  been 
fair  to  her!  This  new  opportunity  for  happiness 
through  worldly  affluence  had  doubtless  been  offered 
as  compensation.  Eagerly  seizing  it,  with  no  thought 
for  the  future  and  no  personal  regrets  for  the  past,  she 
had  lived  from  hour  to  hour,  occasionally  salving  her 
conscience  with  small  acts  of  good-natured  kindness, 
but  in  general  her  conduct  was  absolutely  self-ab- 
sorbed. With  plenty  of  money  to  satisfy  her  desire 
for  luxuries,  for  a  while  she  reveled  in  the  joy  of  it, 
feeling  she  must  thus  be  happy.  In  a  whirl  of  excite- 
ment over  the  admiration  which  she  found  was  freely 
bestowed  upon  her  by  nearly  every  man  she  met,  her 
mind  for  several  years  forgot  its  burden  of  worry. 
That  part  of  her  nature  inherited  from  her  mother  was 
ever  uppermost.  As  is  the  case  with  many  women 

234 


such  as  she,  women  possessed  of  mentality  and  imagi- 
nation but  who  have  had  no  real  mental  or  spiritual 
training,  she  expended  her  whole  time,  energy,  and 
thought  upon  the  aborted  ambition  of  acquiring  pretty 
clothes  and  social  prominence. 

For  this  ambition  in  woman  man  is  largely  respon- 
sible. The  more  her  luxuries  set  off  her  beauty  and 
enhance  her  physical  charm,  the  more  sweetly  womanly 
she  appears  in  his  eyes.  Therefore  a  man  will  often 
deny  himself  personal  necessities  in  order  to  give  such 
luxuries  to  a  woman.  He  looks  upon  a  handsomely 
gowned  member  of  his  family  rather  as  a  being  of  his 
own  creation — her  charms  so  framed  represent  to  the 
world  the  state  of  his  bank  account  and  subtly  an- 
nounce that  he  has  achieved  "success."  So  it  is  that 
many  a  woman's  better  self  has  slumbered  on  under 
the  influence  of  comforts  and  coddlings,  little  realizing 
the  big  things  there  are  in  the  world  for  her  to  do. 

And  so  it  was  with  Marjory.  Under  the  dominion 
and  influence  of  her  mother,  whose  silly  worldliness 
increased  in  a  given  ratio  with  the  flabbiness  beneath 
her  chin  and  the  grayness  of  her  hair,  Marjory  con- 
tinued to  throw  herself  into  the  round  of  social  activi- 
ties and  gaieties,  to  buy  clothes,  determined  to  drown 
thoughts  of  the  past  in  the  belief  that  she  was  in  this 
way  finding  happiness.  Yet  in  spite  of  her  determina- 
tion a  time  finally  came  when  a  restlessness  that  she 
herself  did  not  understand  began  to  develop  in  her. 
Notwithstanding  her  mother's  oft-repeated  admoni- 
tions that  intellectual  women  were  abhorrent  to  men, 
and  that  the  only  way  a  woman  could  be  happy  was  to 
blossom  in  the  sunlight  of  their  all-powerful  smiles, 
Marjory  took  to  study  and  reading,  quickly  developing 
a  real  pleasure  and  understanding  in  this  higher  pur- 
suit. Yet  she  dared  not  let  others  know  of  it,  fearing 
their  criticism. 


236     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  she  began  to  feel 
the  old-time  impatience  of  her  mother,  triple  grown, 
again  possessing  her.  This  lady's  continual  prattle 
about  clothes  and  their  essential  importance,  her  thou- 
sand and  one  petty  jealousies  and  aimless  ambitions, 
distressed  the  awakening  Marjory.  They  acted  how- 
ever as  a  spur  on  her  intellectual  qualities  which, 
though  still  half  dormant  in  her,  were  nevertheless 
very  real.  Though  she  continued  to  practice  the  par- 
ent-bred coquetry  which  was  her  mother's  pride  and 
joy,  behind  her  limpid,  dark-lashed  blue  eyes,  as 
appealing  as  a  child's,  a  mental  keenness  and  knowledge 
of  things  as  they  really  are  had  begun  to  grow.  A 
close  observer  might  often  have  detected  a  spark  of 
thoughtful  amusement  in  their  depths  as  they  were 
raised  with  purposeful  trustfulness  to  those  of  some 
male  admirer.  Though  the  fair  face  would  still  invol- 
untarily droop,  flowerlike,  at  his  approach,  there  was  a 
growing  firmness  to  be  noticed  about  the  delicate  chin, 
and  the  air  of  false  modesty  might  be  understood  as 
only  a  part  of  those  mannerisms  which  her  mother  had 
cultivated  in  her.  The  fair  hair  curling  about  the  white 
temples  was  still  babylike  in  its  clinging  softness;  and 
yet  in  the  breadth  of  brow  beneath  it,  and  in  the  delicate 
almost  imperceptible  lines  about  the  mouth,  there  was 
shown  a  character  of  strong  will  which  few  would  have 
suspected.  The  same  quality  of  almost  pathetic  wist- 
f  ulness  which  had  drawn  Denneth  to  her  on  that  night 
of  their  first  meeting  was  still  present  beneath  her 
outward  gaiety.  Yet  a  subtle  sadness,  sprung  from 
her  hours  of  silent  suffering,  lent  age  to  her  youthful 
face.  About  her  whole  presence  and  address  there 
was  now  a  sureness  of  manner  which  comes  with 
maturity  alone. 

Held  enough  beneath  the  spell  of  her  early  training 
to  still  care  for  the  admiration  that  was  hers,  she 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    237 

nevertheless  began  to  compare  the  admiring  glances 
of  older  and  more  worldly  men  she  now  knew  with 
those  of  the  pure-eyed  boy  of  her  past.  In  these  moods, 
though  hating  Denneth  as  a  thief  who  had  ruined  her 
life,  she  recalled  his  devotion.  Their  courtship  and 
honeymoon,  spent  for  the  most  part  among  the  birds 
and  flowers,  returned  to  haunt  her.  With  a  growing 
understanding  which  was  born  of  experience  she 
learned  to  appreciate  how  absolutely  pure  and  high 
had  been  his  love.  She  said  angrily  to  herself  that 
she  could  never  and  would  never  forgive  him!  She 
did  not  care  in  the  least  what  had  become  of  him  dur- 
ing all  these  years!  Yet  deep  in  her  heart  she  knew 
that  she  thought  of  him  with  ever  increasing  fre- 
quency. 

Her  restlessness  steadily  grew,  and  thinking  to  quell 
this  disquieting  emotion  she  continued  to  resort  to  her 
mother's  balm  of  healing  for  every  woe.  Throwing 
herself  into  the  social  life  about  her,  she  would  be  all 
that  her  fond  parent  wished  for  several  weeks  at  a 
time,  and  then  coming  out  from  these  experiences,  the 
conviction  would  possess  her  that  such  a  life  was  ut' 
terly  wasteful  and  wrong.  Sick  at  heart  and  tired  of 
the  fruitlessness  of  it  all  she  would  return  to  her  books, 
hoping  there  to  find  the  true  happiness  that  her  nature 
sought. 

The  thought  of  her  boy  came  at  such  times  to  tor- 
ment her.  In  every  child  she  passed  she  imagined  she 
saw  a  likeness  to  him.  She  longed  to  talk  with  chil- 
dren— to  take  them  upon  her  knee — to  pour  out  upon 
them  some  part  of  the  mother  love  that  she  knew  she 
possessed  in  no  small  degree.  Yet  because  she  still 
believed  she  had  done  right  in  leaving  Stanley  at  the 
orphanage,  and  because,  too,  she  was  not  willing  to 
suffer  any  emotional  distress,  she  dared  not  let  a  child 
come  near  her.  She  became,  to  all  appearances,  cold 


238    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

and  hard  wherever  they  were  concerned.  But  with 
burning  eyes  she  watched  them,  her  heart  crying  out 
in  spite  of  her  reason  that  through  them,  and  him,  she 
might  find  happiness. 

Marjory  had  finally  come  to  understand  the  true 
meaning  of  the  alms-basket  of  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep.  She  wondered  why  she  had  not  learned  the 
truth  before.  Her  former  ignorance  upon  the  subject 
seemed  almost  unbelievable  to  her  now.  The  knowl- 
edge that  any  orphanage  was  used  for  the  purpose  of 
hiding  sin  was  abhorrent  to  her.  She  wondered  if 
her  own  little  son  was  thought  to  be  one  of  those  poor 
little  derelicts  of  shame.  With  increasing  agony  of 
mind  this  idea  continually  recurred  to  her,  yet  she 
could  not  help  but  believe  that  the  course  she  had  taken 
in  hiding  Stanley's  parentage  was  a  good  one.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  taken  pains  to  read 
nothing  on  the  subject  of  orphanages,  her  mind  would 
insist  upon  recalling  remarks  which  she  had  heard 
dropped  by  others,  and  which  were  derogatory  to  those 
institutions;  but  she  had  refused  to  believe  any  of 
those  tales  relating  to  the  mistreatment  of  children. 
The  happiest  part  of  her  own  life  had  been  spent 
among  the  Sisters  at  the  Convent.  Women,  therefore, 
who  had  little  children  in  their  charge,  surely  loved 
them  and  were  kind  to  them.  Yet  so  unhappy  was 
she,  so  restless  and  full  of  the  eternal  questions  arising 
from  her  past  life,  that  she  often  felt  she  must  surely 
be  possessed  of  two  personalities — the  coquette  the 
world  knew,  and  the  woman  she  was  making  of  herself 
through  the  cultivation  of  her  mind.  More  frequently 
than  ever  there  came  the  longing  for  her  little  boy. 
In  the  deep  of  the  night  she  would  awake  to  feel  the 
clutch  of  his  clinging  fingers — the  warmth  of  his  soft 
lips  upon  her  breast !  Yet  the  next  day  no  woman  she 
knew  seemed  so  thoroughly  a  part  of  the  aimless  por- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    239 

tion  of  Society  which  calls  itself  "SOCIETY"  as  she  was 
herself. 

The  hallucination  of  Stanley's  nearness  grew  daily 
more  acute.  Years  passed.  Her  vain  self -watching 
saw  her  dainty  beauty  begin  to  fade.  Her  better  self, 
the  self  that  was  secretly  coming  to  appreciate  Den- 
neth's  worth,  made  her  careless  of  this  fact.  Grad- 
ually it  began  to  come  over  her  that  she  was  made  for 
better  things.  But  even  yet,  in  spite  of  her  mental 
suffering,  she  lacked  the  moral  courage  to  do  other 
than  drift  along  in  the  current  of  least  resistance.  At 
times  weakly  struggling  against  her  mother's  influence, 
she  nevertheless  continued  to  allow  it  to  control  her 
life,  although  her  spiritual  development  had  so  far 
progressed  that  she  was  vaguely  conscious  that  she 
was  doing  wrong. 

Gradually  there  was  rekindled  in  her  an  ambition 
which  she  had  sometimes  felt  in  her  girlhood.  Never 
having  found  expression  for  her  better  self,  the 
idea  of  writing  the  fairy  stories  which  she  had  often 
dreamed  now  began  to  shape  itself  in  her  mind.  From 
the  reading  of  other  people's  books  she  took  to  the 
stimulant  of  trying  to  write  one  of  her  own.  Had 
Marjory  kept  her  little  son  close  to  her  heart,  this  am- 
bition for  creating,  no  doubt,  would  never  have  entered 
her  life.  She  was  not  by  nature  either  a  student  or 
one  who  wished  to  force  her  opinions  upon  the 
world;  but  because  she  was  spiritually  superior  to  the 
position  in  which  she  found  herself,  it  now  seemed 
absolutely  necessary  that  she  express  that  part  of  her 
nature  which  her  mother  had  always  kept  in  subjection. 

Locking  herself  into  her  room  she  began  to  write. 
Had  her  friends  known  this,  her  secret,  they  would 
have  made  her  life  miserable.  A  woman  who  is  en- 
tirely successful  as  a  goddess  of  fashion  must  have 
no  such  interests.  Though  she  must  be  a  brilliant  con- 


240     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

versationalist,  she  must  take  pains  to  be  so  on  the 
subject  of  nothing  at  all ! 

Marjory,  working  upon  her  little  secret  volume, 
longed  to  tell  someone  of  her  efforts.  Yet  she  dared 
not  do  so,  and  must  needs  find  this  respite  from  her 
unhappiness  and  restlessness  only  behind  locked  doors. 
But  the  very  effort  she  was  making  brought  to  her 
starved  nature  the  feeling  that  now  she  was  surely 
attaining  her  long  sought-for  goal.  The  dainty  stories 
grew — stories  written  for  little  children.  In  them 
Marjory  poured  out  the  whole  wealth  of  her  mother 
love. 

Mrs.  Matthews  finding  that  her  daughter  was  refus- 
ing many  invitations  to  affairs  to  which  only  the  elite 
were  invited  became  suspicious.  Snooping  around  in 
a  way  which  would  be  considered  dishonorable  had 
she  been  other  than  Marjory's  mother,  she  discovered 
Marjory's  concealed  hope  for  happiness.  A  scene  en- 
sued in  which  Marjory,  though  called  all  the  pet  names 
in  the  calendar,  was  made  to  understand  she  simply 
must  not  continue  this  absolutely  unladylike  perform- 
ance ! 

Notwithstanding  this  Marjory's  little  book  soon 
grew  to  completion.  Its  acceptance  and  subsequent 
publication  gave  her  the  greatest  happiness  she  had 
known  since  those  autumnal  days  spent  with  Denneth 
among  the  flaming  trees.  Much  to  her  surprise  even 
her  mother's  displeasure  seemed  to  have  gradually 
subsided ;  for  she,  dear  soul,  discovered  that  her  beau- 
tiful daughter  had  gained  even  more  of  a  foothold 
in  social  circles  than  had  been  the  case  before.  Bored 
hostesses  busily  returning  obligations  were  only  too 
glad  to  make  of  Marjory  a  lion — the  smiling  "goat" 
for  their  stupid  parties. 

But  the  little  book  had  not  satisfied  Marjory's 
restlessness.  Her  heart  was  heavy  within  her; 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     241 

and  though  the  siren  laughter  that  lured  men  to 
candied  and  flowered  financial  destruction  was  ever 
upon  her  lips,  in  her  own  heart  she  realized  that  her 
life  was  still  as  empty  as  ever.  There  surely  must  be 
some  road  to  happiness,  she  thought  continually.  Had 
she  made  a  mistake  in  putting  her  past  behind  her? 
The  baby  face  of  her  little  son  came  up  before  her  in 
answer.  And  Denneth?  Had  she  been  absolutely 
fair  to  him  ?  She  had  given  him  no  chance  to  explain. 
Perhaps  he  might  have  been  able  to  explain,  and  to  her 
entire  satisfaction !  In  angry  impatience  she  put  these 
thoughts  away!  Denneth  had  ruined  her  happiness! 
He  deserved  what  he  had  gotten,  whatever  it  was.  She 
must  find  some  other  way  to  fill  her  life ! 

Her  mother,  of  course,  had  always  been  an  active 
worker  in  any  local  church  wherever  she  had  found 
herself — that  is  of  course,  if  that  church  was  noted 
for  its  aristocracy  either  of  blood  or  money.  This 
lady  did  not  go  to  communities,  however,  where  there 
were  churches  of  an  "inferior"  order.  Before  she  con- 
descended to  enter  the  honored  gates  of  any  town,  she 
must  needs  know  that  it  was  worthy  of  her  sojourn 
there.  Mrs.  Matthews  belonged  to  the  class  of  Ameri- 
can tourists  who  travel,  not  to  see  the  world,  but  to 
let  the  world  see  them!  She  had  been  born,  too,  with 
the  sort  of  mentality  which  demands  that  we  approach 
our  Maker,  the  Father  of  Him  who  was  a  carpenter, 
in  bejeweled,  incensed  pomp  and  show.  This  pro- 
clivity had  gained  in  accordance  with  the  dizzy  height 
of  her  social  attainments.  Yellow  gold  mixed  with 
blue  blood  and  religion  can  attain  great  results. 

Marjory,  who  had  loved  church  and  chapel  during 
her  convent  days  among  the  gentle  Sisters,  gradually 
came  to  hate  it.  Searching  for  happiness  she  had, 
during  all  these  years  of  her  unhappiness,  run  the 
whole  gamut  of  religion  and  even  fanaticism.  In 


turn  she  had  tried  Catholic,  High  Church  Episcopal, 
Blue-stocking  Mediums,  all  the  isms  and  several  of  the 
Sciences !  None  had  brought  her  rest.  Then  one  day 
she  was  talking  to  Mary  Anna  who,  faithful  soul,  had 
stood  by  her  little  mistress  through  thick  and  thin. 
Since  Mrs.  Matthews' s  good  fortune,  this  tropical 
flower  had  acted  as  Marjory's  personal  maid.  She 
was  proud  of  her  promotion  from  a  slavey  of  all  work, 
and  held  herself  accordingly.  It  was  during  this  con- 
versation with  her  that  Marjory  struck  the  key-note 
of  that  future  which  was  destined  to  turn  her  life  from 
one  of  aimlessness  into  one  of  serious  purpose. 

Mary  Anna  coming  into  Marjory's  room  one  morn- 
ing was  shocked  to  see  the  mistress  she  loved  weeping. 

"Holy  Lamb  o'  Gawd,  chile!"  she  exclaimed,  putting 
the  breakfast  tray  down  and  hurrying  toward  the  bed 
in  sympathetic  alarm.  "What  in  dis  perishin'  world's 
de  matter?" 

At  the  sound  of  the  woman's  entrance  Marjory  had 
tried  to  still  the  emotion  that  had  engulfed  her ;  and  so 
now,  sitting  up  and  stuffing  the  pillow  behind  her,  she 
said: 

"Oh  nothing  much,  Mary  Anna.  Just  the  blues,  I 
reckon,"  and  she  smiled  up  through  her  tears  into  the 
kindly  dark  face,  motioning  Mary  Anna  to  place  the 
tray  upon  her  knees. 

"Humph,  de  'reds'  is  what  I'd  call  it  ef  you  axes  me, 
bein's  I'se  lookin'  at  yo'  eyes  an'  nose!  What  ails 
you  anyhow?  You  ain't  sick?" 

Marjory  shook  her  head. 

"None  o'  you'  gemman-friends  done  los'  deir  taste 
for  you — is  dey?"  Mary  Anna  asked  again,  looking 
really  distressed  this  time. 

Marjory  laughed,  but  continued  shaking  her  head. 

"Well,  yo'  ma  ain't  been  praisin'  up  yo'  does  and 
thoein'  off  on  yo'  brains,  has  she?" 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     243 

"No,  Mary  Anna,"  Marjory  said,  "I  told  you  it  was 
just  the  blues." 

Mary  Anna  grunted. 

"Well  doan'  yer  let  her  worry  yer.  Yo'  books  is 
bound  to  be  unnoticeable,  and  nobody  ain't  goin'  ter 
be  no  wiser  after  readin'  dem  nohow,  so  you  jes' 
'muse  yo'se'f  dat  way  all  you  pleases  in  spite  of  her 
critiostricism." 

Marjory  smiled  up  into  the  other's  anxious  face. 
"Mary  Anna,"  she  said  abruptly  and  off  the  point, 
"I've  been  lying  here  thinking  of  religion.  The  kind 
I  know  seems  too  small  for  my  big  troubles.  What  do 
you  think  about  it?" 

"Lamb  o'  Gawd,  chile!"  the  other  exclaimed,  sur- 
prised at  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken;  "you 
knows  I'se  a  Christian  all  wool  and  a  yard  wide.  I 
believes  Marse  Jonah  swallowed  de  whale,  and 
Marse  Moses  discovered  real  estate  befo'  de  Israelites 
did.  Likewise  I  believes  Miss  Eve  ate  an  Adam's 
apple,  an'  all  sich  Holy  words.  But  hit  do  seem  to  me 
dat  'ligion  was  made  fer  dressy  occasionments  and  not 
fer  troubles.  If  hit  had  been  made  fer  troubles,  does 
yer  think  it  would  give  us  poor  sinners  so  much  trouble 
to  keep  it?  Why,  I  have  more  trouble  tryin'  to  keep 
my  'ligion  than  ef  I  didn't  have  none !  Spring  o'  the 
year  come  'long  and  de  sap  in  my  bones  begins  to  feel 
all  creepy  an'  full  o'  joy.  I  sees  a  handsome  buck 
nigger,  an'  he  axes  me  to  go  to  de  Sunday  School  pic- 
nic. Now,  chile,  you  knows  as  well  as  I  does  dat  Sun- 
day School  picnics  ain't  no  place  in  which  to  sass  de 
Lawd  by  dancin'.  But  putty  soon  me  an'  dat  buck 
nigger  hears  music  an'  our  foots  jes'  naturally  gits  so 
ticklish  we  begins  to  cut  de  pigeon  wing.  De  fust 
thing  I  knows  I'se  done  los'  my  'ligion  and  is  turned 
outen  de  church!" 

During   this   soliloquy   Marjory  had   finished   her 


244     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

breakfast,  and  taking  the  pins  from  her  hair  she  now 
let  it  fall  about  her  in  a  golden  shower.  To  see  her 
thus  in  the  softened  light  no  one  would  have  guessed 
the  years  which  had  passed  over  her  since  the  date  of 
her  marriage. 

Mary  Anna  bustled  about  the  room  getting  Mar- 
jory's morning  toilette  in  readiness.  Her  rambling 
talk  while  thus  employed  was  a  daily  amusement  to 
Marjory,  and  she  never  tired  of  leading  her  on.  So 
now  she  did  nothing  which  by  any  chance  might  in- 
terrupt her. 

"Yas-sah,"  Mary  Anna  went  on,  "  'ligion's  a  pow'ful 
troublesome  thing.  Hit  tells  yer  to  undo  all  dem 
things  which  you'se  about  to  do,  and  to  leave  done  all 
dat  which  nobody  on  Gawd's  yearth  wants  to  do  no- 
how. Still  I  believes  in  'ligion  and  I  shouted  hard, 
I  tell  yer,  to  git  mine!  I  doan'  know  nothin'  'bout 
cyards,  but  eve'y  now  an'  den  when  a  crap  game  doan' 
'zactly  seem  to  satisfy  my  longin's,  I  plays  a  leetle, 
jes'  a  leetle  sort  of  a  game  dat  is  sinful  fer  niggers  and 
stylish  fer  white  folks — I  learnt  it  from  yo'  ma." 

"But  Holy  Lamb  o'  Gawd,  jes'  as  sho'  as  you'se 
born,  ef  I  indulges  my  carcass  in  a  leetle  reconciliation 
like  dat,  Brudder  Jones  of  de  Methusalem  Methodist 
Church  prerambulates  'long — an'  I'se  done  turned 
outen  de  church  agin!  Neberdeless  I  believes  in 
'ligion;  but  somehow  or  udder  hit  ought  to  be  mo'  full 
of  love  an'  kindness  dan  it  are.  Love  is  de  thing, 
honey 

"But  what's  de  matter,  chile?"  she  broke  off  as  she 
happened  to  notice  Marjory's  paleness.  You'se  sick!" 
in  an  accusing  tone. 

"No,  I'm  not,  Mary  Anna,  just  a  little  headachy 


"I  knowed  it!"  the  other  exclaimed,  dropping  the 
fluffy  rose  and  white  gown  she  had  been  taking  from 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     245 

the  closet,  and  going  over  to  the  bed.  "Heah,  let  me 
put  some  o'  dis  cologne  on  yo'  po'  haid,"  and  she 
picked  up  a  silver  perfume  bottle  from  the  table  near 
by. 

"No,  please,"  Marjory  begged  like  a  child,  "I  don't 
think  I  could  stand  that  today.  Suppose  you  give  me 
that  little  bottle  down  there  on  the  bottom  shelf  of 
the  closet.  "There!"  pointing  as  the  other  moved 
across  the  room  toward  the  closet's  open  door. 

"Dar  ain't  no  bottle  heah,  'cepting  dis  one,  chile," 
Mary  Anna's  voice  sounded  from  the  depths  of  the 
closet.  Then  coming  out  into  the  light,  she  held  aloft 
a  large  square  bottle  marked  Gin. 

"That's  the  one,"  Marjory  said.  "Wet  my  hand- 
kerchief and  lay  it  on  my  forehead.  That  seems  to 
help  sometimes." 

Mary  Anna  obeyed;  but  could  not  refrain  from  re- 
marking : 

"Never  heard  of  usin'  gin  befo'  fer  haidache.  But 
doctors  an'  white  folks  has  pow'ful  queersome  notions 
dese  days.  Why,  I  heared  yestiddy  dat  dar's  a  light 
called  the  X  Y  Z  days — or  something  like  dat — dat 
gemmans  kin  look  right  thu  ladies  wid !  Ain't  it  scan- 
dalous? And  ladies  lets  'em  do  it!  Holy  Lamb, 
what  is  we  a-comin'  to  anyway,  as  I  remarked  to  de 
gemman  friend  dat  was  my  husband  so  to  speak,  befo' 
I  took  fer  wusser  and  not  better  dis  good-fer-nothin', 
no-count,  lazy  cuss  dat  I'se  halted  to  now !" 

Marjory  lay  smiling,  her  headache  almost  forgotten. 
Finally  she  said  in  explanation,  before  the  garrulous 
soul  could  catch  her  breath  to  continue : 

"This  isn't  gin,  Mary  Anna;  it's  witch-hazel.  I 
broke  my  witch-hazel  bottle." 

"Good  Gawd,  Miss  Marjory,"  Mary  Anna  said,  her 
eyes  bulging,  "I  might  have  killed  myse'f !" 

A  peal  of  Marjory's  merry  laughter  broke  out  at 


246     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

this  self -revealing  remark,  and  then  suddenly  sobering, 
her  eyes  dilated  in  suppressed  nervousness,  she  said: 

"Mary  Anna,  do  you  remember  years  ago  when — 
Mr.  Richardson — deserted  me —  and — 

"Now  chile,  doan  yer  talk  about  dat  disagreeable- 
ness.  Dat  wuz  too  long  ago  to  reckomember.  No 
gemman,  whedder  he  deserted  or  didn't  assert  you, 
is  worth  scrambling  yo'  brains  over  dat  long!  'Sides 
dat,  folks  doan  know  nothin'  about  hit  nohow.  I 
thought  you  yo'se'f  had  done  forgot  hit — /  has! 
What  about  dat  ole  Jedge  Sawyer  you  met  at  dat 
Maine  Hotel  las'  summer?  Him  dat  seemed  to  git 
de  gazin'  sickness  in  connection  wid  yo'  'shy  blue  op- 
nics',  as  he  say.  Him  dat  tooken  sech  a  fancy  to  you 
dat  he  say  to  me  he  wished  he  were  yo'  father !  Father 
nothin' !"  and  she  laughed.  "And  dat  udder  gemman 
— de  English  one — him  whose  handle,  as  you  might 
say,  was  blasphemious — 'Lord'  Sydenham?  What 
'bout  him?  Yo'  ma  acted  jes  like  'Polnarus  over  him, 
she  wuz  dat  gushin' !  An'  all  dem  udder  suitors  who 
ain't  nobody  in  particular  ?  Law,  gal,  doan  you  begin 
to  reckomember — reckomembering  is  what  turned 
Lot's  wife  into  a  bolster  of  Epsom  salts.  Hit  ain't 
safe.  Let  doggones  be  doggones,  as  de  Good  Book 
say." 

"But  Mary  Anna,  I've  got  to  talk  to  somebody  about 
it  all.  I've  simply  got  to!"  Marjory  said,  deadly 
serious  in  spite  of  the  other's  remarks.  Then  tears 
coming  to  her  eyes,  she  continued :  "Oh  Mary  Anna, 
you  don't  know,  nobody  knows,  how  I've  suffered  all 
these  years !  I  feel  as  though  I  had  reached  the  place 
where  I  couldn't  stand  it  another  minute !  Somebody 
must  help  me  to  decide  what  to  do." 

At  her  words,  and  the  tears  over-brimming  her  eyes, 
Mary  Anna  instantly  became  all  solicitude  and  sym- 
pathy. Dropping  the  filmy  lingerie  she  had  just  re- 


moved  from  a  drawer,  and  going  over  to  the  bed  again, 
she  threw  herself  upon  her  knees  by  Marjory's  side. 
"My  po'  chile,"  she  cooed,  her  soft  black  hands 
smoothing  the  curls  back  from  Marjory's  flushed  face. 
"Tell  me  anything  in  Gawd's  world  yer  wants,  honey. 
I'm  a-listenin'  like  a  telephone.  You  knows  I'd  he'p 
you  from  de  bottom  of  my  very  las'  dollar  if  needces- 
sary.  What's  troublin'  you?" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FOR  several  moments  Marjory  lay  very  still,  her  big 
child-like  eyes  looking  steadily  into  those  of  the 
woman  by  her  side.  Mary  Anna's  shiny  orbs  in  turn 
gazed  faithfully  back.  Then,  catching  her  breath  with 
a  sob,  Marjory  asked  slowly,  articulating  her  every 
word  until  it  was  a  clean  cut  staccato : 

"Mary  Anna,  if  you  had  a  little  son  and  you  wanted 
him  to  grow  up  into  a  good  and  holy  man,  and  you 
felt  he  could  not  do  so  under  your  influence  because  of 
his  father's  disgraced  name,  wrhat  would  you  do  with 
him?" 

Mary  Anna's  face  drew  itself  into  puzzled  lines; 
but  shaking  her  head  she  said  simply :  "I  ain't  much  at 
kadrumnums,  honey.  My  brains  is  kinder  like  'lasses, 
chile,  kinder  like  'lasses,"  and  her  eyes  asked  in  dumb 
pleading  that  her  ignorance  be  forgiven. 

"Would  you  give  him  away?  Would  you  put  him 
in  an  orphan  asylum  for  other  women  to  bring  up  into 
honest  manhood?"  Marjory  asked  more  simply,  her 
face  becoming  drawn  and  white  with  the  effort  of  this 
question. 

"No  sahree,  ma'am,  I  sholy  would  not  put  him  in  no 
orpham-size-um !"  Mary  Anna  answered  emphatically. 
"No,  ma'am!" 

Marjory's  face  went  even  whiter  at  this  answer; 
and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  effort  that  she  was 
able  to  ask  faintly,  "Why  not,  Mary  Anna?" 

"Caze  orpham-size-ums  is  dirty;  dey's  made  fer 
po'  white  trash,  an'  sinners.  'Sides  all  dat,  honey,  no 
baby  chiles  is  got  any  business  bein'  took  away  from  its 
ma.  Orpham-size-ums  is  agin  nater.  Hit  doan  seem 
to  make  so  much  differbitterance  about  chillens  havin' 

248 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     249 

Pas.  Pas  is  jes'  sort  of  a  social-like  decoration  any- 
how; but  mas  is  a  needcessary.  Baby-chiles  need  sof 
bosoms  fer  to  rock-a-by  on — dey  needs  lovin'  hands  to 
tuck  'em  in  at  night,  and  lovin'  lips  fer  to  teach  'em 
to  talk,  lovin'  knees  fer  to  lean  aginst  while  bein'  learnt 
lessons  in  worldly  wizzum,  and  lovin'  eyes  fer  to  watch 
'em  grow!  In  udder  words,  as  Brudder  Jones  says 
when  he  is  argufyin'  wid  Gawd  on  Sundays,  dey  need 
love  jes'  like  de  flowers  needs  sun  an'  rain  fer  to  make 
'em  grow  straight  an'  strong.  You  axed  me  'bout 
'ligion.  Well,  honey,  love  is  de  'ligion  mos'  of  us 
needs  mos'  in  dis  ole  contrary  plant  of  a  world.  If 
chillens  is  gave  love,  de  Lawd  'tends  to  de  res' !  An' 
if  you  ever  seed  the  internal  workin's  of  an  orpham- 
size-um,  you'd  know  dar  warn't  no  love  dar'." 

Marjory  lay  very  still,  her  eyes  staring  straight 
ahead  of  her.  This  ignorant  woman's  homely  words, 
so  full  of  the  essence  of  truth,  had  reached  deep  down 
in  her  and  taken  hold  of  her  heart  strings  as  nothing 
else  had  done  during  the  years  since  she  had  parted 
from  her  little  son.  There  came  to  her  the  terrible 
knowledge  that  she  had  made  a  mistake.  She  realized 
that  had  she  allowed  herself  to  think  about  it,  she 
would  have  known  this  fact  before. 

Was  there  no  other  way  than  the  one  which  she  had 
chosen?  Could  she  not  have  kept  her  little  son  and 
influenced  him  so  that  he  would  have  grown  up  to  be  a 
good  man  in  spite  of  his  heredity? 

There  came  to  her  mind  the  story  of  a  pretty  village 
girl  who,  while  working  for  Mrs.  Matthews  during 
Marjory's  childhood,  had  given  birth  to  a  child.  The 
town  authorities  promptly  declared  their  intention  of 
taking  it  away  from  its  bewildered  mother,  who  was, 
of  course,  immediately  turned  from  Mrs.  Matthews's 
employ.  Given  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  go  the 
regulation  way  of  many  no  worse  than  she,  the  girl 


250    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

had,  nevertheless,  not  only  emphatically  refused  to  ac- 
cept such  a  fate,  but  refused  also  to  be  separated  from 
her  baby. 

By  devoting  her  whole  thought  and  devotion  to  the 
bringing  up  of  it,  together  they  had  both  slowly 
climbed  back  into  an  unobtrusive  respectability  and 
place  in  the  life  of  the  town  about  them.  The  child 
consistently  shielded  by  its  mother  from  any  expressed 
disgrace  grew  into  sweet  maidenhood,  then  wifehood, 
feeling  little  of  the  stigma  which  the  circumstances  of 
her  birth  had  fastened  upon  her. 

Marjory  went  over  the  scenes  of  her  own  baby's 
birth  and  the  ensuing  four  weeks  spent  together  in  the 
hospital.  A  veritable  agony  of  self-reproach  gripped 
her.  Entirely  forgetting  the  element  of  unselfishness 
which,  though  mistaken,  had  been  very  real  at  the 
time,  Marjory  now  called  herself  a  deserter  of  her 
boy — a  selfish  egotist  who  had  thought  chiefly  of  her 
own  comfort  and  convenience!  If  she  had  been  truly 
unselfish,  she  now  argued,  if  she  had  been  really  de- 
sirous of  protecting  little  Stanley,  could  she  not  have 
done  so  without  forcing  him  to  forfeit  his  birthright? 
Self -scorn  burned  and  seared  her  soul.  If  this  village 
girl  who  had  neither  friends  nor  financial  influence  to 
stand  between  her  and  Society's  finger  of  scorn  had 
brought  her  child  up  to  respected  maturity,  how  in- 
finitely easier  it  would  have  been  for  Marjory  to  have 
protected  Stanley !  With  money  and  time  at  her  com- 
mand she  could  have  kept  the  secret  of  his  father's 
disgrace  from  him.  Lavishing  the  wealth  of  her  love 
upon  him,  she  could  have  influenced  his  development 
for  good.  Mary  Anna's  words  fairly  screamed  their 
way  through  her  mind.  The  negress  was  right.  Noth- 
ing in  the  world  could  be  so  good  for  a  child  as  the 
love  and  good  influence  of  one  who  belonged  to  him 
through  the  tie  of  blood. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    251 

The  stories  she  had  heard  against  orphan  asylums 
returned  to  her  mind.  Yet,  try  as  she  would,  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  that  any  women  with 
the  care  of  children  would  be  cruel  to  their  charges. 
But  suppose  those  in  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep 
had  neglected  her  boy?  Suppose  they  had  actually 
mistreated  him? 

She  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Almost  choking  with 
the  unwonted  beating  of  her  heart,  she  suddenly  sat 
up,  exclaiming: 

"Mary  Anna,  I've  been  a  selfish,  blind  fool!  If 
you  knew  what  I  have  done — the  terrible,  inexcusable 
thing  I  did  years  ago,  you'd  hate  me!" 

"Law,  Miss  Marjy,  chile,"  Mary  Anna  said  sooth- 
ingly, "doan  excite  yo'se'f  like  dat.  Dar,  dar,"  and 
shaking  up  the  pillows  she  stuffed  them  cosily  back 
of  Marjory,  continuing:  "Why  jes'  listen  to  yo'  breaf. 
You'se  fairly  takin'  hit  in  'short  pants,'  as  the  middle- 
seated  gemman  in  the  nigger  minstrel-show  says," 
chuckling  at  her  wit.  "Eve'ybody  knows  you  never 
done  nothing  wrong  in  yo'  sweet  life!  You'se  jes' 
been  a  putty  flower  growin'  in  the  gyarden  of  luxury, 
jes'  a  real  leetle  lady  wid  manners  like  a  queen " 

Marjory  broke  in  upon  her  impatiently.  "Yes,  that's 
exactly  what  I  have  been — a  'flower  in  a  garden  of 
luxury.'  But  the  flower  is  a  rank  weed,  Mary  Anna. 
The  whole  socially  constructed  garden  of  luxury  is 
made  up  of  rank  weeds,  and  those  weeds  steal  over 
into  the  garden  of  usefulness  and  sap  its  strength  and 
vigor.  Weeds  are  parasites,  Mary  Anna " 

"Holy  Lamb,  chile,  you  talks  like  one  o'  dem  female 
womens  dat  calls  demse'fs  suffergettes.  Fer  Gawd's 
sakes,  doan  you  begin  no  sech  sheenanykin !  Mens  is 
lazy  and  bombosterous  enough  as  'tis  widout  gittin' 
the  idee  dat  deir  lady  friends  and  ^pendents  is 
hankerin'  fer  work  as  well  as  chillens " 


252     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"I  am  a  suffragist,  if  suffrage  means  that  idle,  silly, 
useless  women  like  I  am  will  disappear  from  the  face 
of  the  earth,"  Marjory  broke  in.  "What  have  I  ever 
done  to  help  anything  or  anybody?  Nothing!  What 
good  have  I  ever  been?  None!  Have  I  ever  tried 
to  take  a  big  helpful  outlook  on  life?  No.  A  broad 
horizon  and  a  big  way  of  looking  at  things  is  man's 
business!  My  business  is  to  look  pretty — being  a 
member  of  the  sex  through  which  the  world  is  peopled 
I  must  attract  the  male.  Must  pander  to  him — must 
spend  my  time,  according  to  Mama,  fascinating  and 
fooling  him!  I've  been  nothing,  nothing,  nothing, 
but  a  pretty  doll !  An  unhappy  slave  of  what  'people 
will  say'!  Oh,  I  hate  myself!"  And  flinging  herself 
down  among  her  lacy  pillows  she  entirely  lost  control 
of  her  emotions. 

"Why  Marjory!  My  dear  love!"  an  angry  voice 
exclaimed,  as  a  highly  perfumed  feminine  flower  of 
rustling  silks  and  satins  was  wafted  into  the  room. 
"This  is  the  most  outrageous  conversation  I've  ever 
heard!  Writing  that  book  has  simply  gone  to  your 
head!  I  suppose  you  think  now  that  you  are  a  'new 
woman,'  and  that  you  can  express  yourself  in  all  sorts 
of  vulgar,  unladylike  ways!" 

Marjory  sat  bolt  upright.  "Mama,  I  wonder  if 
you've  ever  realized  that  I'm  thirty  years  old.  Don't 
you  think  it's  about  time  I  am  allowed  to  express  some 
opinions  of  my  own?  I  am  useless.  I'm  worse  than 
useless " 

But  she  got  no  further.  Mrs.  Matthews  broke  in 
with  a  torrent  of  affectionate  abuse.  "Why,  my  love, 
what  in  the  world  do  you  mean  by  speaking  like  this 
to  me,  your  adoring  mother?  What  do  you  suppose 
people  would  say  if  they  heard  you?  Haven't  I  given 
you  every  luxury?  Haven't  I  made  you  one  of  the 
most  talked-of  beauties  in  Virginia?  What  other 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     253 

woman  has  had  so  many  accomplished  men  at  her 
feet,  as  has  my  little  love?  Had  so  many  chances  to 
make  a  really  good  match?  You  managed  to  spoil 
your  early  life  by  a  wilful  marriage,  a  marriage  I  was 
opposed  to  from  the  very  first — the  man  had  no  money 
— and  now  though  I  have  urged  you  to  break  that 
marriage  and  enter  into  an  advantageous  one,  you 
have  pig-headedly,  yes  pigheadedly,  my  love — not  a 
pretty  word,  but  expressive — you  have  pigheadedly  re- 
fused to  follow  my  advice !" 

By  now  Marjory  had  gotten  out  of  bed.  Standing 
up  in  front  of  her  mother,  she  threw  her  head  back 
defiantly.  "Mama,  that  will  do!  I  won't  listen. 
Furthermore  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  know 
it's  going  to  make  a  break  between  us.  I've  known  it 
for  a  long  time;  but  though  I  have  been  a  coward, 
I'm  one  no  longer.  I  must  speak!" 

Mrs.  Matthews  here  tried  to  interrupt;  but  waving 
her  words  aside,  Marjory  continued : 

"When  I  married  Denneth  Richardson,  I  loved  him. 
I  was  willing  to  do  without  any  amount  of  comforts 
and  luxuries  in  order  to  marry  him.  I  think  I  showed 
that  in — the  choice  I  made  between  him  and  another 
man,  a  man  so  much  too  good  for  me,  by  the  way, 
that  it  makes  me  ashamed  even  yet  to " 

But  angrily  breaking  in  upon  her  daughter  Mrs. 
Matthews  said  commandingly  to  the  maid  who  had 
continued  her  work  about  the  room,  "Mary  Anna,  go 
out  into  the  hall." 

But  to  her  mother's  astonishment  Marjory  counter- 
manded quickly:  "Mary  Anna,  remain.  Get  all  my 
traveling  things  together,  please;  and  yours,  too — 
Pardon  me,  Mama.  I  will  say  out  my  say. 

"We  went  to  housekeeping,  Denneth  and  I.  You 
came  to  live  with  us.  Nothing  pleased  you ;  but  being 
still  beneath  your  influence,  I,  like  the  fool  I  was, 


254    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

began  to  see  things  once  more  from  your  point  of 
view  and  not  from  my  own  or  Denneth's." 

Her  mother  attempted  to  interrupt  again — but  again 
compelling  her  attention,  Marjory  continued : 

"Oh,  I'm  not  trying  to  excuse  myself.  I  know  I 
was  to  blame  for  letting  you  influence  me,  but  it  had 
become  a  habit  with  me!  Well,  then  my  little  baby 
was  about  to  come — "  here  a  sob  rose  in  her  throat, 
and  with  an  effort  she  kept  back  the  tears.  "You 
no  more  made  me  understand  the  sacredness  of  God's 
gift  to  me  then  than  you  had  explained  the  sacredness 
and  true  meaning  of  marriage  before.  My  better  self 
began  to  occasionally  whisper  that  I  was  playing  a 
foolish  game;  but  refusing  to  pay  heed  to  these  warn- 
ings, as  you  know,  I  continued  to  think  of  nothing 
but  clothes  and  the  things  I  had  been  brought  up  to 
worship — worldly  possessions.  As  I  look  back  upon 
it  all  now  I  wonder  how  Denneth  stood  it. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  trying  to  excuse  him  either,"  as  her 
mother  once  more  angrily  broke  in.  "I've  told  you 
that  I  would  never  see  nor  hear  from  him  again.  I've 
kept  my  word.  But  what  I  am  saying  is  this:  You 
had  so  filled  me,  so  hypnotized  me,  with  the  idea  of 
what  'people  would  say,'  that  when  things  became — 
when  things  were  at  their  worst,  I — I " 

But  here  she  broke  down  completely,  flinging  her- 
self face  down  upon  the  bed,  unable  to  proceed  and 
turning  away  from  her  mother. 

This  gave  Mrs.  Matthews  the  desired  opening,  and 
calling  down  upon  Marjory's  head  maledictions  inter- 
spersed with  pet  names,  this  incensed  matron  demanded 
an  answer  to  the  question,  "How  dare  her  daughter, 
her  dear  little  love,  say  such  things  to  her!"  and  nois- 
ily rustling  from  the  room  she  left  behind  her  a  trail 
of  perfume  stronger  than  her  customarily  sweetened 
words — a  perfume  which  always  indicated  her  where- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    255 

abouts  as  surely  as  did  that  given  by  bounteous  nature 
to  an  animal  less  easily  tolerated  than  she ! 

Jumping  up  Marjory  rushed  to  the  door,  calling 
after  her:  "Mama,  come  back!" 

Then  as  that  lady  continued  her  haughty  way  down 
the  hall  in  spite  of  Marjory's  request,  Marjory  said 
in  a  hard,  deliberate  voice  that  did  not  sound  at  all 
like  her  own : 

"If  you  don't  come  back  I'll  call  out  to  you  what 
I  was  going  to  say!  It  isn't  a  credit  to  either  of 
us " 

She  got  no  further.  The  threat  was  sufficient. 
Mrs.  Matthews  came  back,  and  entering  the  room 
closed  the  door.  Seriously  disturbed  and  anxious  she 
took  the  chair  Marjory  pushed  forward  for  her  and 
listened  silently  while  the  latter  said,  holding  herself 
bravely  in  hand : 

"I  told  you  my  baby  had  died.  He  did  not.  He 
is  probably  living  to-day." 

At  this  bit  of  news  Mrs.  Matthews,  white  and  shak- 
ing, rose  from  her  seat.  The  negro  woman,  eyes  pop- 
ping from  her  head,  had  dropped  her  task  and  hurrying 
over  at  the  look  of  fury  on  Mrs.  Matthews's  face,  now 
stood  near  Marjory  in  much  the  attitude  of  a  mother 
bear  determined  to  protect  her  cubs.  Mrs.  Matthews 
was  so  angry  that  Mary  Anna  felt  a  vague  fear  lest 
she  try  to  harm  her  beloved  mistress. 

Marjory  looking  her  mother  squarely  in  the  eyes, 
continued  coldly :  "Yes,  I  deceived  you.  For  once 
in  my  life  I  acted  on  my  own  initiative —  But  do  not 
be  alarmed.  The  cowardice  which  is  convention  bred 
in  most  girls  of  my  class  was  strong  enough  in  me 
to  make  me  desert  my  boy!  I  put  him  in  an  orphan 
asylum.  I  believed  then  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do — 
but,  of  course,  that's  beside  the  mark.  There  was  so 
much  about  poor  Denny — the  disgrace  and  all " 


Mrs.  Matthews' s  face  had  taken  on  a  look  of  re- 
lief. Seeing  this,  however,  Marjory  lost  her  self- 
control  and  angrily  exclaimed: 

"But  I'll  tell  you  this,  Mother :  To-night  I  start  for 
New  York  to  take  him  out  of  that  loveless  place  in 
which  he  may  even  now  be  suffering.  From  hence- 
forth I  am  forever  done  with  this  useless  life  you  have 
given  me,  and — and — "  her  voice  breaking  while  the 
tears  coursed  unheeded  down  her  cheeks,  "I  will  yet 
be  happy  with  my  boy!  I'm  going  to  help  him  grow 
into  a  good  man,  in  spite  of  his  heredity.  These 
years  of  suffering  have  taught  me  much,  Mama.  I 
believe  I  know  life's  true  value  better  now." 

At  these,  her  own  words,  her  heart  suddenly  soft- 
ened towards  her  mother,  and  she  said  in  all  honesty 
of  purpose:  "Oh,  D.  D.,"  using  the  pet  initials  she 
had  used  toward  her  mother  during  babyhood,  but 
which  she  had  not  indulged  in  for  many  years,  "let's 
start  afresh !  Our  little  boy,  your  grandson  whom  you 
have  never  seen,  needs  us.  He  needs  our  love,  and  we 
need  his,  D.  D.  There  must  be  more  happiness  in  life 
than  we've  yet  found " 

But  she  got  no  further.  Mrs.  Matthews,  who  had 
throughout  this  entire  recital  uttered  no  word,  was 
now  no  longer  able  to  control  herself.  Her  eyes,  too, 
were  full  of  tears,  but  they  were  those  of  an  exceed- 
ingly angry  woman.  Half  choking  and  fairly  sput- 
tering with  rage,  she  said : 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  my  love,  that  after  you  have 
lied  to  the  world,  cheated  and  deceived  it,  passed  off 
as  an  unencumbered  widow,  played  the  part  of  an  inno- 
cent lamb,  that  now  you  will  suddenly  produce  a  great 
big  boy  from  out  of  nowhere  and  say  to  the  world, 
'Oh,  didn't  you  know  I  had  a  son?  Well,  you  see 
his  father  was  a  thief  and  so  I  put  the  child  in  an 
orphan  asylum.  But  now  I've  decided  that  his  hered- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    257 

ity  makes  no  difference,  and  so,  dear  kind  friends,  just 
accept  him  among  you  socially  and  let's  say  no  more 
about  it!'  Marjory,  do  you  think  you  can  do  a  fool 
thing  like  that?"  Then  her  sarcastic  anger  giving 
way  to  self-pity,  she  moaned: 

"Oh,  it's  such  a  disgrace.     What  -will  people  say?" 

By  now  Marjory  was  furious.  "Mother,"  she  said 
between  closely  held  lips,  "that  will  do!" 

Her  mother,  paying  no  heed,  went  on  piteously, 
wringing  her  be  jeweled  hands :  "And  I  thought  I  had 
you  almost  married  to  a  lord!  Think  of  it,  my  love! 
You  would  have  been  a  Lady,  a  real  Lady " 

"Humph!"  Mary  Anna  mumbled  disrespectfully, 
"like  she  ain't  already  dat!" 

"And  now  you  are  going  to  spoil  it  all  by  this  dam- 
nable nonsense!"  Then  Mrs.  Matthew's  indignation 
growing  into  white  heat,  she  exclaimed  convulsively: 
"You  just  shall  not  do  it!"  and  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  she  stamped  her  foot  like  a  tragedy  queen,  she 
very  much  resembled  a  spoiled  child  bent  oh  having 
its  own  way.  Stepping  over  to  the  door,  she  locked 
it  and,  putting  the  key  in  her  pocket,  whirled  upon 
her  daughter.  "What  do  you  suppose  -people  would 
say  if  you  suddenly  had  no  money?  Do  you  think 
you  would  be  so  popular,  so  sought  after,  so  admired, 
if  my  money  wasn't  back  of  you?"  Then  losing  in  her 
anger  what  little  dignity  she  possessed,  she  said,  "You 
wilful  little  hussy!  I  thought  you  might  do  some- 
thing fool — yes  fool,  my  dear,  not  a  pretty  word,  but 
expressive,  and  so  the  money  is  all  in  my  name.  Do 
you  understand  that,  Marjory  'Richardson'  ?" 

Marjory  went  white.  "So  you  advise  me  leaving 
my  son  in  a  place  where  he  is  not  happy,  and  where  I 
do  not  feel  at  all  sure  of  the  influence  being  good?" 
she  asked  scornfully.  "You,  his  grandmother,  con- 


258    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

sider  the  opinion  of  'people'  more  important  than  my 
son's  birthright  of  happiness " 

"You  put  him  there,  didn't  you?" 

Marjory  winced. 

"You  should  have  thought  of  his  happiness  before 
you  did  it!  There's  one  thing  certain  now,  and  that 
is  that  you  can't  take  him  out  and  bring  him  here. 
People  would  talk!" 

Marjory,  white  to  the  lips  with  anger,  stood  over 
her  mother  threateningly,  but  said  in  a  perfectly  calm 
vdice:  "That  will  not  stop  me.  Nor  will  lack  of 
money  stop  me.  Nothing  will  stop  me !  Besides  which 
I  have  got  money.  I  have  money  my  husband  gave 
me!"  and  she  emphasized  the  word. 

Until  this  conversation  Mrs.  Matthews  had  never 
heard  Marjory  mention  Denneth's  name  since  the  date 
of  his  crime,  and  now  she  felt  seriously  alarmed. 
Tears,  that  weapon  of  women  which  has  made  history 
and  changed  the  map  of  the  world,  came  to  her  aid. 
Flopping  limply  back  into  her  chair  she  allowed  her 
nose  to  become  reddened  in  a  manner  which  would 
have  even  now  distressed  her  outraged  vanity  had  she 
stopped  to  think. 

Marjory  coldly  turned  to  Mary  Anna.  "Mary 
Anna,"  she  said,  "pack  my  things."  Then  turning 
toward  her  mother  again  she  said  in  quiet  determina- 
tion, enunciating  every  word:  "I  am  going  to  New 
York  to-night." 

Mrs.  Matthews's  equinoxial  storm  broke.  Weeping 
and  scolding,  she  begged  her  "little  love"  to  have 
mercy!  Had  that  bugaboo,  "people,"  in  fear  of 
whom  Mrs.  Matthews  lived,  heard  what  she  had  to 
say  from  now  on  until  the  close  of  the  scene,  they 
certainly  would  have  talked!  But  Marjory,  filled 
with  the  inspiration  of  her  newly  discovered  better 
self,  was  obdurate. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MARJORY  hurried  toward  the  river.  The  sun  shone 
down  upon  her,  and  striking  the  windows  of  the 
shabby  nouses  along  one  side  of  the  street,  turned 
every  pane  of  glass  into  a  flaming  beacon  of  hope. 
As  this  idea  entered  Marjory's  mind  she  smiled  at  its 
significance  and  the  thought  that  she  was  so  soon  to 
see  her  boy.  She  quickened  her  steps  and  went  eagerly 
forward,  intent  only  on  reaching  the  Home  of  His 
Lost  Sheep.  As  she  passed  the  basket's  alcove  with 
its  light  in  the  shape  of  a  star,  she  felt  as  though 
her  heart  must  surely  stop  beating,  so  poignant  had 
the  memory  become  to  her  of  that  night  of  years 
before.  Its  every  little  detail  returned,  and  she  felt 
that  it  and  not  the  present  scene  must  surely  be  the 
reality  through  which  she  was  even  now  living.  The 
actual  seemed  far  away  and  entirely  unreal.  She  felt 
as  though  she  had  stepped  back  through  the  years  to 
the  time  before  she  had  parted  with  little  Stanley. 
She  was  acutely  conscious  of  his  warm  body  against 
her  breast — yet  the  real  emptiness  of  her  arms  was 
even  more  acute!  She  breathed  the  baby  perfume  of 
his  nearness.  His  little  fingers  clung  to  hers,  and 
across  the  years  she  seemed  to  hear  the  tinkle  of  the 
bell  which  had  been  the  signal  of  their  separation. 
Then  with  a  stab  of  anguish  the  reality  of  the  present 
asserted  itself. 

She  hurried  rapidly  on.  Again  a  feeling  of  joy 
swept  over  her.  Her  arms  would  soon  no  longer  be 
empty.  Little  fingers  now  growing  big  would  really 
be  clinging  to  hers!  She  reached  the  Home's  gates 
and  pressed  the  bell. 

At  her  summons  a  burly  watchman  in  uniform  came 
forward  and  looked  through  the  grating. 

259 


260    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss.  Is  it  after  wanting  to  see 
anybody  ye  be?"  he  asked,  as  his  beady  eyes  took 
in  Marjory's  rich  attire. 

"Yes,  open  the  gate,  please,"  Marjory  answered. 
"I've  come  to  see  the  matron." 

The  watchman  hesitated.  "But  it's  not  after  being 
a  visitor's  day  today,"  doubtfully. 

"But  I  wish  to  come  in  anyway,"  Marjory  said  in 
the  imperious  manner  which  much  admiration  had  bred 
in  her.  "Open  the  gate,  please." 

For  a  moment  more  the  man  hesitated.  He  had 
not  served  as  watchman  in  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep  for  nearly  twenty  years  without  knowing  that 
a  lady  dressed  as  Marjory  was  dressed  was  not  wel- 
come there  without  due  notice  having  been  given  of 
her  coming.  Rules  were  strict  and  food  was  scarce. 
As  had  been  the  case  years  before,  a  housekeeper  who 
kept  the  bills  down  was  considered  an  example  of 
righteous  perfection.  Clothes,  shoes,  stockings,  even 
soap  and  water,  as  well  as  food,  came  under  the  head 
of  economies  practiced,  and  except  on  visitors'  days 
the  children  showed  not  the  slightest  sign  of  care  or 
cleanliness.  Except  on  such  days  important  factors 
in  State  or  Church  did  not  happen  along,  and  so  no 
attempt  was  ever  made  to  hide  the  filth  and  barren- 
ness which  daily  surrounded  the  little  lives  within  the 
Home. 

The  watchman  knew  he  ought  to  keep  Marjory  from 
entering  until  a  more  propitious  occasion.  Yet  of  late 
there  had  been  several  well-dressed  women  demanding 
entrance  at  unexpected  hours.  These  women  had  made 
it  rather  uncomfortable  for  those  in  authority  at  the 
Home  when  admission  had  been  refused  them.  The 
watchman  was  therefore  afraid  to  actually  refuse 
Marjory  entrance  now.  With  the  pretense  of  a  rusty 
lock,  he  tried  strategy: 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    261 

"But  it's  after  being  sick  I  think  the  good  matron 
is,"  fumbling  clumsily  with  the  lock. 

"She  probably  isn't  too  sick  to  see  me,"  Marjory 
said,  waiting. 

Their  parley  had  attracted  the  attention  of  several 
of  the  children  playing  about  the  yard.  Coming  up 
they  peered  through  the  grating  of  the  gate  with  big 
eyes  which  looked  hollow  and  dark  in  their  setting 
of  drawn,  white  faces.  The  expression  in  them  of  sad 
wistfulness  cut  Marjory  to  the  quick.  The  leader  of 
the  crowd  was  a  boy  about  the  age  of  her  own  son, 
she  thought,  judging  from  his  size.  Maybe  it  was 
he!  Her  heart  quickened;  but  as  quickly  sank  as  she 
took  note  of  his  shabby  condition.  Could  this  be  the 
little  baby  for  whom  she  longed  ?  He  was  a  handsome 
little  chap  and  did  not  look  so  ill  as  the  rest. 

"Good  afternoon,  children,"  she  said,  controlling 
the  anxiety  in  her  voice  and  forcing  to  the  fore  her 
most  light-hearted  and  charming  manner  in  spite  of 
the  distress  she  felt.  "I'm  coming  in  to  see  you." 

At  her  words  and  unwonted  show  of  interest  in 
them  the  children  one  and  all  backed  away.  Standing 
at  a  safe  distance  they  stared  coldly,  much  as  shy  ani- 
mals do  at  the  approach  of  man.  Like  the  little  crea- 
tures of  the  woods  the  children  had  seldom  met  with 
anything  but  cruelty  and  misunderstanding  from 
adults,  so  why  should  they  accept  Marjory's  friendly 
advances  now?  She  probably  represented  some  new 
form  of  injustice  to  be  meted  out  to  them!  Besides 
that,  the  stony  gray  of  the  asylum  walls  had  entered 
their  very  souls,  turning  the  natural  trustfulness  of 
childhood  into  the  mistrust  of  middle  age. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  that  lock?"  Marjory  im- 
patiently asked  of  the  watchman.  "If  it's  as  rusty  as 
it  seems,  you  need  a  new  one."  But  in  spite  of  her 
annoyance  at  the  man  she  continued  to  watch  the 


262     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

children  as  she  spoke.     Standing  nearly  across  the 
yard  now,  their  wide  eyes  stared  at  her  as  before. 

Thinking  that  he  could  not  fool  or  delay  her  longer, 
the  watchman  turned  the  key.  Swinging  back  the  gate 
he  remarked  pleasantly : 

"It's  not  a  rich  place  we  be,  Miss.  Them  little 
mouths,"  jerking  his  head  back  toward  the  still  star- 
ing children,  "is  after  taking  all  we  can  git  to  feed 
'em." 

Marjory  entered.  Crossing  over  to  the  children  she 
said:  "Aren't  you  going  to  make  friends  with  me, 
children?  I've  come  to  see  you."  As  she  uttered 
these  words  her  gaze  swept  over  each  of  the  boys, 
hoping,  yet  hardly  daring,  to  see  the  locket  of  queer 
design  swinging  about  one  of  their  necks. 

The  children  were  silent. 

"What's  your  name,  dear?"  she  asked  a  tiny  girl 
in  the  front  of  the  group. 

The  little  girl  questioned  only  stared. 

"Don't  you  know  your  name?  Don't  any  of  you 
know  your  names?"  turning  toward  the  others. 

There  was  dead  silence  and  Marjory's  heart  mis- 
gave her.  How  different,  how  terribly  different  were 
these  silent  children  from  the  happy  children  of  her 
friends!  Were  these  dumb,  staring  creatures  before 
her  now  those  whom  she  had  once  imagined  to  be  so 
happy  and  safe  in  this  sheltering  home?  Were  these 
they  whom  the  Church  and  State  were  bringing  up 
into  useful  maturity? 

The  dirty,  stupid  little  faces  stared  at  her.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  emotion  or  understanding  visible 
in  any  of  them,  but  Marjory  thought  their  eyes  were 
searching  her  soul,  and  rinding  there  that  she  was  a 
mother  who  had  deserted  her  child,  to  her  imagina- 
tion they  now  took  on  a  look  of  dumb  accusation !  She 
could  stand  it  no  longer. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    263 

"Is  any  of  you  named — Stanley?"  Her  voice 
quivered,  and  she  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  them. 

She  received  no  answer. 

"Has  any  of  you  a  locket  about  his  neck?  I'm 
looking  for  a  little  boy  with  a  locket  about  his  neck," 
and  she  forced  a  smile  through  her  dry  lips. 

Still  there  was  no  answer;  and  turning,  Marjory 
walked  back  to  the  watchman.  "Is  there  any  rule 
against  these  children  talking  to  visitors?"  she  asked 
in  her  old  impatience.  "Why  are  they  so  silent?  I 
can't  get  a  word  out  of  any  of  them !" 

The  watchman  approached  the  children,  his  thick 
lips  drawing  themselves  heavily  back  from  his  fang- 
like  teeth  in  what  he  considered  a  smile,  though  its 
brutal  quality  made  it  perfectly  plain  that  those  lips 
were  entirely  unaccustomed  to  being  put  to  such  use. 

"Childer,"  he  said  with  an  exaggerated  show  of 
kindliness,  "it's  after  talking  to  ye  the  pretty  lady  is. 
Where  is  them  manners  I  be  after  teaching  ye?"  and 
with  his  back  turned  toward  Marjory  he  gave  the 
children  a  threatening,  vicious  scowl. 

Staring  coldly  back  at  him  and  Marjory  the  chil- 
dren stood  huddled  together  in  sullen  silence. 

"Fer  shame  on  ye,"  he  continued;  "ain't  ye  got  no 
manners  at-all,  at-all?" 

At  Marjory's  question  about  the  locket  a  little 
hunchback  had  pushed  his  way  forward  through  the 
group  and  now,  in  a  high-pitched,  nasal  voice,  he 
spoke. 

"Me  kill  lions  and  chipmunks  and  kangaroos  and 
spiders !  Me  kill  him  too  when  me  get  big  boy,"  look- 
ing toward  the  watchman.  "Whack !"  and  his  fist  came 
down  on  a  tiny  girl's  head  as  his  shrill,  foolish  laugh- 
ter broke  out.  His  loose  lips  dripped  saliva  as  he 
rolled  his  eyes  up  at  Marjory. 

She  shuddered.    But  the  little  half-wit  now  begin- 


264     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ning  to  cry,  she  forced  down  the  repugnance  created 
in  her,  and  stooping  forward  said  kindly: 

"What's  the  matter,  little  boy?" 

"Me  wants  him,  me  wants,  me  wants!"  the  Lion 
said  wriggling  convulsively.  "Big  boy  tooken  locket 
and  went  'way.  Me  wants  him.  Me  wants !" 

The  world  went  round  for  Marjory.  She  thought 
she  must  surely  fall,  must  die,  from  the  agony  of  sud- 
den apprehension  that  flooded  through  her  mind.  But 
bracing  herself  she  turned  to  the  wratchman : 

"What  is — that  child's  name?"  she  forced  herself  to 
ask.  She  would  not  have  recognized  her  own  voice. 
A  possibility  too  horrible  for  words  possessed  her. 

"It's  not  after  knowing  his  name  I  be,  Miss,"  the 
watchman  answered,  still  made  unlike  his  ordinary 
brutal  self  by  the  outward  signs  of  Marjory's  worldly 
possessions.  "There's  so  many  blooming  kids  here  we 
number  them  you  know,  and  kinder  lose  track  of  their 
names,"  he  said.  Then  noticing  Marjory's  expres- 
sion and  translating  it  to  mean  indignation  at  this  an- 
swer, he  hastened  to  suggest : 

"Wasn't  it  the  matron  ye  was  after  seeing?  Her 
it  is  that  can  tell  you  the  whole  of  them's  names.  If 
ye'll  just  step  this  way  with  me,  Miss,  I'll  show  ye 
in,"  and  he  walked  toward  the  asylum's  entrance. 

"You  may 'tell  the  matron  I  am  out  here,"  Marjory 
said,  giving  the  watchman  her  card.  She  longed  to 
get  rid  of  the  man  in  order  that  she  might  question 
the  children  further.  "If  she  is  able  to  see  me,  I'll 
then  come  in." 

The  man  hesitated;  but  again  influenced  by  the  in- 
dication of  Marjory's  wealth  and  social  position  as 
judged  by  her  commanding  manner,  he  dared  not  dis- 
obey her.  Reluctantly  he  entered  the  building's  main 
door ! 

Trembling  with  apprehension,  yet  strongly  deter- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     265 

mined  to  face  the  future  which  she  had  so  long  avoided, 
Marjory  turned  again  to  the  children. 

"Do  any  of  you  know  whether  this  little  boy  has 
got  a  locket?" 

The  sullen  children  still  stared. 

"Me  wants  Big  Boy.  Me  wants  him!"  the  Lion 
broke  in  irrelevantly. 

Then  seeing  Marjory's  bright  mesh  bag  as  its  jew- 
eled top  caught  and  reflected  the  sunlight,  he  gurgled 
gleefully.  Making  a  plunge  toward  her,  he  forgot  en- 
tirely his  former  distress. 

As  his  hands  grasped  her  gown  Marjory  shrank 
away  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  horror.  Look- 
ing down  into  the  idiotic,  distorted  face  she  felt  as 
though  her  mind  were  giving  way.  The  other  chil- 
dren's faces  became  a  blur.  She  shook  with  cold.  Sev- 
eral times  she  tried  to  speak,  but  was  unable  to  say 
aloud  the  words  which  were  upon  her  lips. 

Could  what  she  feared  be  true?  Could  this  poor, 
horrible  little  creature  be  the  child  of  hers  and  Den- 
neth's  pure  union?  Things  she  had  heard  about  crim- 
inals' children  returned  to  make  her  apprehensions 
even  more  real.  Too,  she  recalled  the  chaotic,  de- 
structive thought  influence  to  which  Stanley  had  been 
subjected  just  before  his  birth,  during  those  days  after 
Denneth's  desertion  of  her  and  her  subsequent  flight 
to  New  York.  She  had  heard  somewhere  that  such 
things  often  did  leave  their  stamp  of  mental  degen- 
eracy upon  a  child.  She  shuddered. 

Deliberately  throwing  all  these  fears  aside,  however, 
she  again  studied  the  faces  before  her.  She  must  not 
allow  herself  to  believe  such  a  thing  until  it  could  be 
proven.  The  matron  doubtless  knew  which  of  the 
children  was  hers.  Of  course  this  little  idiot  could  not 
be  responsible  for  anything  which  he  might  say. 

The  largest  boy  of  the  group,  the  lad  she  had  first 


266    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

noticed,  now  suddenly  smiled  at  her.  Deep  down  in 
his  manly  little  heart  he  had  felt  a  stirring  of  interest 
and  friendship  toward  the  visitor.  In  spite  of  his 
Home-bred  distrust  of  everyone,  his  heart  warmed 
toward  her,  and  the  sullenness  which  characterized 
the  other  children  left  him. 

Marjory's  heart  bounded  as  she  caught  this  expres- 
sion of  friendliness.  "Do  you  know  this  little  boy's 
name?"  she  asked  hopefully. 

"His  name  is  the  Lion.    We  calls  him  that." 

Marjory  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  unfamiliar 
name,  but  went  deadly  pale  as  the  lad  continued: 

"He  did  have  a  locket  once,  a  funny-looking  locket. 
I  seen  it  on  him,"  pointing  toward  the  little  hunch- 
back, who  was  still  playing  with  Marjory's  glittering 
purse. 

With  a  return  of  her  apprehension,  tenfold  strength- 
ened, Marjory  felt  a  wild  desire  to  make  a  bolt  for  the 
gate.  Running  through  it  she  would  put  behind  her 
forever  the  distressing  face  of  the  half-witted  boy.  In 
the  same  instant  she  realized  that  even  though  she  gave 
way  to  cowardice,  and  deserted  this  child  whom  she 
now  began  to  really  believe  was  hers,  she  could  never, 
so  long  as  life  lasted,  forget  that  convulsed  distorted 
face! 

"Where — is  your  locket,  Lion?"  she  bravely  asked, 
forcing  herself  to  address  the  little  idiot.  "Have  you 
any  other  name  besides  Lyon?"  hoping  that  this  ques- 
tion might  establish  the  idiot's  relation  to  her  as  being 
purely  a  figment  of  her  imagination. 

"No,  he  ain't  got  no  other  name,"  the  larger  lad 
volunteered. 

Marjory's  eyes  lighted  with  relief.  "Well,  is  there 
any  boy  here  whose  name  is  Stanley?  I'm  looking 
for  a  boy  named  Stanley  with  a  locket  about  his  neck." 

There  was  no  answer,  and  her  fears  reviving  again, 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    267 

she  said  to  the  little  Lion :    "Show  me  your  locket. 
What  is  it  like?" 

"Big  Boy,  he  tooken!  Me  wants.  Me  wants,"  he 
responded  as  her  words  penetrated  his  clouded  brain 
and  recalled  his  distress. 

"Of  whom  does  he  speak  when  he  says  'Big  Boy,' ' 
Marjory  asked  the  larger  lad. 

"He  means  him  that  went  to  the  Reform  School," 
the  lad  answered.  "He  was  kinder  soft  on  the  kid." 

"Big  Boy,  me  wants  him,  me  wants!" 

The  other  children  standing  about  now  began  to  lose 
their  constraint.  One  of  them  giggled  audibly  at  the 
reference  to  Stanley's  infatuation  for  the  little  idiot. 

Shuddering,  Marjory  turned  again  to  the  lolling- 
tongued  child.  "What  was  your  locket  like?"  she 
asked.  ''Where  is  it  now?" 

But  to  all  these  questions  she  got  but  one  answer; 
his  distressed  cry  of  wanting  "Big  Boy." 

"It's  you  the  matron  is  after  asking  to  see,"  the 
watchman  said,  having  come  up  behind  Marjory  with- 
out her  knowledge.  "Jes'  come  with  me,  Miss." 

Leaving  the  group  of  children  Marjory  followed 
the  man  into  the  dingy  Home,  and  soon  found  herself 
in  the  presence  of  a  black  garbed  figure  seated  at  a 
desk. 

As  the  matron  lifted  her  eyes  to  Marjory's,  Mar- 
jory was  shocked  at  the  expression  of  her  face.  It 
was  hard  and  cold  to  a  degree  which  Marjory  had 
never  before  encountered  in  a  woman,  and  it  was  only 
with  the  greatest  effort  that  she  now  addressed  her  as 
she  had  been  taught  to  address  a  woman  of  her  age. 
These  formalities  over,  she  continued  simply : 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you  about  my  boy.  I  put  him 
in  your  alms-basket  when  he  was  a  month  old.  His 
— father  had  disgraced  our  name  and  I  wanted  my  son 
to  grow  into  manhood  under  your  good  influence. 


268    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

About  his  neck  I  tied  a  locket.  In  it  was  written  his 
name — Stanley.  I  asked  that  he  be  allowed  to  wear 
the  locket  always  and  keep  the  name." 

Then  after  a  slight  pause  in  which  the  little  half- 
wit's face  came  before  her  mind's  eye,  causing  her  to 
feel  that  the  world  was  crashing  about  her  ears,  Mar- 
jory said: 

"I've  come  for  him.  I  cannot  stand  to  be  without 
him  longer !" 

During  Marjory's  monologue  the  matron  had  sat 
watching  her  keenly,  but  now  she  asked : 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  saw  your  boy?  How  old 
is  he?" 

Marjory  was  surprised  at  this  question,  but  has- 
tened to  answer: 

"Why,  I  haven't  seen  him  but  once  since  I  put  him 
here.  That  was  over  twelve  years  ago." 

"You  wouldn't  know  him  then  if  you  saw  him?" 

Marjory  winced.     "I  suppose  not." 

The  matron  sat  silently  watching  Marjory  for 
several  moments.  Then  she  spoke. 

"I  know  of  no  such  boy  here." 

Marjory  was  nonplussed.  "But  surely  you  must!" 
she  exclaimed.  "The  locket  was  a  highly  polished 
gold  one  with  raised  silver  initials  on  one  side,  and 
the  signs  of  the  zodiac  in  raised  silver  on  the  other." 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  Then  in  explanation 
she  said :  "I  have  been  here  only  a  little  over  a  month. 
Matron  Morrison  died,  you  know,  and  I  was  sent 
on  to  take  her  place.  I  know  little  of  the  chil- 
dren. Perhaps  Catherine  here  may  know  about  this 
particular  case.  She  has  been  in  the  Home  longer  than 
the  rest.  I  will  send  for  her,"  and  ringing  a  bell  that 
faintly  tinkled  out  in  the  dim  distance,  she  said  to  a 
young  girl  who  answered  it : 

"Ask  Catherine  to  come  here." 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    269 

Another  untidy  woman  with  an  uninspired  face  en- 
tered the  room. 

"Catherine,"  the  matron  said,  "do  you  know  any- 
thing about  this  boy?  Madam,"  turning  to  Marjory, 
"kindly  tell  her  what  you  have  told  me." 

Marjory  repeated  the  brief  history  of  Stanley's 
entrance  into  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep. 

Catherine  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  remember  any- 
body by  the  name  of  Stanley  during  my  time,"  she 
said. 

Marjory  went  pale.  Again  the  face  of  the  little 
half-wit  came  to  haunt  her.  "Perhaps  he  was  known 
by  a  nickname,"  she  suggested.  She  hoped  fervently 
that  this  suggestion  would  lead  nowhere ;  yet  she  made 
it  because  of  the  courage  which  her  determination  to 
do  her  duty  had  aroused  in  her. 

Catherine's  face  brightened  for  a  moment.  "I 
think  I  do  remember  seeing  one  of  the  children  with 
some  such  locket,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "though  I 
certainly  do  not  remember  any  'Stanley'  among  them. 
It  seems  to  me  there  was  some  trouble  between  two  of 
the  boys  not  long  ago — oh,  I  know,  I  think  I  heard 
something  or  other  about  some  incorrigible  we  sent 
to  the  Reform  School  for  having  stolen  a  locket  from 
one  of  the  other  boys.  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of 
some  such  thing  occurring  a  few  weeks  since." 

"Was  the — original  owner — of  the  locket  a  hunch- 
back?" Marjory  forced  herself  to  ask. 

"Why  yes,  that's  right.  Now  I  remember.  The 
little  'Lion,'  as  the  children  call  him,  claims  that  Ninety- 
nine  took  it  away  from  him  just  before  Ninety-nine 
went  to  the  Reform  School.  Ninety-nine  was  a  danger- 
ous incorrigible,  madam.  These  children  aren't  the  in- 
nocent lambs  they  look  to  be !"  she  hastened  to  add,  lest 
there  be  some  criticism  of  her  by  this  handsomely 
gowned  lady. 


270    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

But  Marjory  had  not  heard  the  last  part  of  her  re- 
mark. In  her  mind  and  heart  there  was  a  battle 
raging  which  shut  out  everything  else. 

So  her  worst,  her  wildest  fears  were  true!  That 
repulsively  deformed  body  and  that  pathetically  inade- 
quate mind  were  sprung  from  her  very  own!  The 
little  hunchback  was  the  clinging  baby  she  had  deserted. 
Yet  even  now,  convinced  as  she  was,  she  would  not, 
could  not,  accept  this  fact  without  further  struggle. 

"But  his  name?"  she  asked  faintly.  "If  he  is  my 
boy,"  and  she  shuddered  at  the  very  memory  of  his 
hands  upon  her  bag,  "he  must  be  down  on  your  records 
under  the  name  of  Stanley.  I  particularly  requested 
that  he  be  known  by  that  name.  Surely  you  would 
not  have  denied  a  mother,  even  an  unknown  and  de- 
serting mother,  this  small  request." 

The  nurse,  Catherine,  stared  at  the  matron,  and  the 
matron  stared  back  at  Catherine. 

"Our  records  were  destroyed  last  week  when  the 
office  end  of  this  building  burned  down,"  the  matron 
said.  "You  see  now  I  have  to  use  the  chapel  as  my 
office,"  she  complained.  "It's  very  inconvenient.  In 
fact  this  whole  place  is  inconvenient  and  unmodern 
to  the  last  degree." 

Again  Marjory  had  heard  only  the  woman's  first 
remarks.  Learning  that  there  was  no  way  to  prove 
whether  the  half-witted  child  was  really  her  child  or 
not,  Marjory's  mental  suffering  had  become  so  acute 
that  it  seemed  to  surround  her  and  bar  her  out  from 
everything  else  in  the  world.  She  felt  convinced  of 
the  relationship  between  her  and  the  half-wit. 
Whether  this  conviction  sprang  from  the  secret  and 
dread  feeling  of  sorrow  and  despair  which  had  for  so 
long  been  connected  with  everything  pertaining  to 
Denneth,  or  whether  the  mother  in  her  recognized  that 
something  in  him  which  meant  the  tie  of  blood,  she 


could  not  say.  But  whatever  the  cause,  she  now  be- 
lieved, in  spite  of  the  possibility  that  more  than  one 
child  in  the  Home  might  have  worn  a  locket,  that  the 
little  hunchback  was  her  son. 

What  was  her  duty?  Should  she  take  him,  this 
repulsive  creature,  from  the  Home  and,  openly  an- 
nouncing her  secret  to  the  world,  stand  between  him 
and  it?  Or  should  she  leave  him  here?  No  one 
would  be  any  the  wiser  if  she  did  leave  him.  Not  a 
soul  except  herself  and  her  mother,  and  her  faithful 
maid,  knew  that  she  had  a  son.  Her  mother,  dear 
soul,  would  but  welcome  this  kindly  escape  from  any 
explanations  as  to  Marjory's  past.  The  child  himself, 
too,  would  not  be  able  to  appreciate  the  difference  in 
his  surroundings  if  she  did  take  him  out. 

She  rose  to  go. 

"But  his  welfare?"  Marjory's  conscience  argued. 
His  happiness  ? — for  he  evidently  was  capable  of  emo- 
tions. No,  he  was  probably  totally  unconscious  of 
anything  save  the  need  of  food  and  the  roof  over  his 
head.  In  this  Home  where  he  knew  the  other  children 
he  was  doubtless  perfectly  content.  She  longed  to 
escape  through  the  gates;  yet  lingered  on  as  the  ma- 
tron talked  of  her  own  trials  and  tribulations.  The 
woman  belonged  to  that  large  class  among  us,  inside 
and  outside  of  churches,  who  believe  that  it  is  Society's 
duty  to  provide  not  only  a  living,  but  luxuries,  for 
those  who  choose  a  profession  of  service  which  appeals 
to  them  personally,  regardless  of  whether  they  in  that 
profession  be  of  benefit  to  Society  or  not. 

Unheeding  the  woman's  complaints,  Marjory's  mind 
went  on  fighting  out  the  battle  with  her  conscience. 

"Isn't  there  any  way  you  can  establish  the  boy's 
identity,"  she  asked.  "I  came  hoping,  and  wanting, 
to  find  my  son;  but  naturally  I  do  not  want  to  take  a 
child  I  do  not  know  is  my  son." 


272     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Once  more  Catherine  looked  at  the  matron  and 
she  looked  back  at  Catherine.  Food  was  scarce  and 
expenses  were  high.  The  Home  was  even  now  con- 
tinually being  overcrowded  by  the  frequent  ringing 
of  the  alcove's  bell.  Should  they  do  more  than  go 
through  the  mere  formalities  required  by  the  authori- 
ties when  a  person  came  asking  to  adopt  a  child? 
Would  there  not  be  just  so  much  extra  did  they  but 
get  rid  of  the  little  hunchback? 

"The  records  are  gone,  madam,"  the  matron  said. 
"I  can't  think  of  any  other  way  for  you  to  identify 
him.  You  might  question  the  children  themselves. 
Perhaps  some  of  them  may  remember  seeing  the  locket. 
I  do  not." 

"How  long  have  you  been  here,  Catherine?"  Mar- 
jory asked  turning  toward  the  other  woman. 

"Nearly  ten  years,"  she  answered. 

"Have  you  been  here  longer  than  anyone  else?" 

"Yes,"  the  nurse  said. 

"And  you  don't  remember  definitely  when  or  where 
you  saw  the  locket?  Or  whether  it  was  stolen  from 
the  little  deformed  lad?  In  other  words,  you  don't 
know  whether  the  little  hunchback  is  its  original  owner 
or  not?" 

Again  Catherine  answered  no.  "All  I  remember 
about  it  is  what  I  have  told  you." 

Marjory  looked  at  both  women  sharply.  "It  seems 
to  me  little  short  of  remarkable  that  no  one  here  knows 
about  a  child  who  wore  so  conspicuous  a  thing  as  that 
locket."  Then  looking  about  the  shabby  chapel  and 
out  into  the  dirty  halls,  she  said : 

"I  would  like  to  have  all  the  attendants  here  ques- 
tioned, please,"  and  turning  her  back  on  the  other  two, 
Marjory  walked  up  and  down  the  chapel,  for  the  thou- 
sandth time  miserably  going  over  her  life  as  it  was 
and  as  it  might  have  been.  If  this  mentally  deficient 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    273 

hunchback  proved  to  be  her  child,  as  she  now  seri- 
ously feared  and  believed  him  to  be,  what  was  she  go- 
ing to  do  with  him?  The  very  thought  of  having 
him  near  her  turned  her  sick  with  distress.  Yet  the 
more  fully  she  saw  into  the  actual  conditions  of  the 
Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep,  the  more  keenly  she  re- 
alized it  would  be  unfair  to  leave  him  there,  even 
though  he  was  so  deficient  as  not  to  feel  the  poverty, 
disgrace,  and  misery  of  his  present  situation. 

To  Marjory  it  seemed  a  lifetime  before  several 
other  women  entered  the  room.  These  on  being  ques- 
tioned by  her  shook  their  heads.  They  knew  nothing 
of  a  boy  with  a  locket,  nor  did  they  remember  ever 
having  heard  the  name  of  Stanley  in  connection  with 
any  of  their  charges. 

"Perhaps  Patrick,  the  watchman,  knows,"  one  of 
them  suggested.  "He  has  been  here  longer  than  any 
of  us,  Madam,  and  sees  the  children  in  a  way  we  sel- 
dom do." 

A  wave  of  indignation  passed  through  Marjory  at 
this  statement.  These  women  seemed  to  pride  them- 
selves on  the  fact  that  they  knew  little  about  the 
children  in  their  care.  They  seemed  to  think  it  ac- 
tually reflected  credit  upon  them  to  have  held  them- 
selves aloof  from  the  little  waifs! 

She  opened  her  lips  to  express  her  righteous  indig- 
nation at  their  display  of  indifference,  but  changing 
her  mind,  she  said : 

"Kindly  send  for  Patrick." 

In  answer  to  a  summons  the  watchman  whom  she 
had  seen  in  the  yard  entered  the  chapel. 

With  a  show  of  deep  respect  he  went  through  the 
formalities  expected  of  a  good  servant  upon  entering 
the  presence  of  his  superiors,  and  then,  cap  in  hand, 
he  stood  awkwardly  before  Marjory. 

"I've  already  questioned  this  man,"  Marjory  said, 


274     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

turning  toward  the  matron.  "He  knew  none  of  the 
children's  names.  He  told  me  so.  He  knows  their 
numbers!" 

The  matron  gave  Patrick  a  disapproving  look,  at 
the  same  moment  saying  graciously  to  Marjory: 

"Oh,  I  guess  you  misunderstood  him.  We  try  very 
hard  to  have  an  air  of  intimacy  like  a  child's  own 
family  circle  in  our  Home.  The  numbers  are  merely 
a  matter  of  record.  The  dear  children  are  given 
names  also." 

"Patrick,"  Marjory  broke  in  impatiently,  "do  you 
remember  ever  having  seen  one  of  the  boys  here  wear 
a  gold  locket  with  a  queer  design  in  silver  upon  it?" 

Patrick's  eyes  shifted  anxiously  from  the  matron's 
face  to  that  of  Marjory — then  back  again.  He  seemed 
unable  to  gain  a  cue.  Yet  he  knew  that  he  must 
say  what  the  all-powerful  matron  wished  him  to  say 
— such  diplomacy  had  enabled  him  to  keep  an  easy 
job  for  years.  He  hesitated. 

"Answer  the  lady's  question,"  she  commanded;  and 
as  she  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes,  he  could  not 
for  the  life  of  him  tell  whether  she  wished  him  to 
tell  the  truth  or  not.  All  the  eyes  in  the  room  were 
fastened  upon  him. 

"Er — it's  after  not  er — knowing  it,  I  be,"  he 
stumbled.  Then  thinking  he  saw  a  disapproving  gleam 
in  one  of  the  nurse's  eyes,  he  blundered  on  desperately : 
"That  is,  er — er — it's  not  entirely  sure  I  be.  I  think" 
— the  gleam  became  more  pronounced — "I  think  I  do 
be  after  remembering  some  such  trinket." 

"Yes,"  Marjory  encouraged,  watching  him  eagerly, 
her  cheeks  alternately  flushing  and  paling  in  her  anx- 
iety. "When  do  you  think  you  saw  it — and  where?" 

Again  the  matron's  eyes  seemed  to  give  warning. 
Patrick  swallowed  hard. 

"It's  not  after  knowing  I  be!"  he  finished  desper- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     275 

ately,  taking  a  deep  breath  and  feeling  conscious  of  a 
duty  well  performed. 

"You  do  not  remember!"  Marjory  asked,  astonished 
at  the  turn  the  man's  answer  had  taken.  Then  her 
anxiety  getting  the  better  of  her,  she  exclaimed : 

"Think,  man,  think!  For  heaven's  sake  try  to  re- 
member. It's  terribly,  desperately,  important  to  me!" 
Then  she  flushed  at  having  displayed  her  emotion  be- 
fore these  strangers. 

Patrick  looked  at  the  matron  and  she  gazed  back 
at  Patrick.  In  her  eyes  he  again  seemed  to  read  some- 
thing. His  eyes  tried  to  ask  hers  the  question  as  to 
what  he  should  say —  But  her  eyes  did  not  change 
their  expression  in  the  slightest  degree. 

"Did  you  see  the  locket  on  the  little  hunchback?" 
Marjory  asked  bravely.  Her  hands  were  nervously 
clinching  and  unclinching  among  the  soft  folds  of  her 
skirt  as  she  spoke. 

Once  more  the  man  dumbly  appealed  to  the  vari- 
ous pairs  of  eyes  as  to  what  his  answer  should  be. 
The  matron's  face  was  absolutely  unreadable  in  its 
sphinx-like  calm.  Being  undecided  herself  as  to  the 
wiser  course  to  pursue,  she  now  thought  to  let  fate 
take  its  course. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  answer  my  questions?"  Mar- 
jory said  to  the  harassed  watchman,  again  her  old 
imperious  self. 

The  man  nervously  twirled  his  thumbs.  He  drew 
one  foot  up  the  back  of  his  other  leg.  He  scratched 
his  head. 

"It's  thinking  he  is  the  one  I  seen  it  on,  I  am," 
Patrick  answered  doubtfully.  "But  it's  not  sure  I  am, 
at-all,  at-all!" 

Marjory  collapsed  into  a  chair.  "You  don't  feel 
sure?  You  don't  know?" 

"It's  sure  I  am  that  there's  no  such  locket  on  any 


276     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

of  the  dear  laddies  here  now;  but  as  fer  the  ijit  having 
had  one,  well  I  do  be  thinking  that " 

Pausing  he  again  looked  at  the  matron,  then  at 
Catherine.  Receiving  no  guiding  look  from  either, 
he  mumbled  on : 

"Maybe  he  did  '.ave  one,  and  maybe  he  didn't." 

For  a  moment  more  Marjory  sat  very  still,  too  weak 
from  the  emotion  through  which  she  had  been  pass- 
ing to  move.  Now  standing  up  she  again  faced  the 
group.  Her  head  was  thrown  back,  and  though  her 
eyes  were  dilated  and  her  cheeks  extremely  flushed, 
except  for  this  there  was  no  indication  of  her  recent 
nervousness  or  indecision. 

"And  there's  no  one  else  here  who  would  be  likely 
to. know?"  she  asked. 

The  matron  answered  in  the  negative. 

"You  have  no  record  of  such  a  child — dying?  If 
he  were  living  you  would  surely  know  of  his  name 
and  his  locket,  would  you  not?" 

This  time  it  was  the  matron's  turn  to  feel  as  har- 
assed as  the  Irish  watchman  had  felt.  "I  am  a 
stranger,"  she  said,  "I  am  sorry,  Madam,  but  we  have 
given  you  all  the  information  which  we  possess." 

"Then  I — cannot — have  my  boy!"  Marjory  said. 
And  hastily  saying  adieu  she  made  her  way  from  the 
chapel,  and  went  on  out  from  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep. 

Once  more  the  selfish,  cowardly  side  of  her  nature 
fully  possessed  her.  She  would  not  do  anything  fool- 
ish or  detrimental  to  her  own  future.  Once  again  she 
had  been  mistaken  in  thinking  she  could  find  happi- 
ness. That  blessing  seemed  destined  always  to  be 
lacking  in  her  life.  Did  she  but  seem  to  see  it  grow- 
ing in  the  distance,  it  disappeared  like  a  mirage.  Her 
little  son  was  evidently  dead. 

Walking  rapidly  through  the  city  streets,  gay  with 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    277 

their  pleasure  seekers  of  a  Saturday  afternoon,  she 
forced  all  thought  of  the  little  "Lion"  from  her  mind. 
She  could  not  accept  a  child  that  might  not  be  hers! 


Deep  in  the  night  Marjory  awoke,  seeming  to  feel 
the  clutch  of  her  baby's  little  clinging  fingers  around 
her  own — the  warmth  of  his  soft  lips  against  her 
cheek !  She  wanted  her  boy !  How  she  wanted  him ! 

Vaguely  at  first,  then  more  plainly,  the  face  of  the 
little  hunchback  came  up  before  her  mind's  eye.  Black- 
ness reigned  within  her  hotel  room,  yet  the  little  hunch- 
backed figure  seemed  to  stand  out  boldly  to  her  sight. 
With  the  same  horror  and  repugnance  she  had  felt 
the  day  before,  she  saw  before  her  the  loose  lips,  the 
lolling  tongue,  the  vacant  eyes,  until  she  could  have 
screamed  in  her  agony. 

The  boy  seemed  to  come  closer — to  climb  upon 
the  bed — to  fasten  his  arms  about  her  neck.  She 
could  not  move!  He  clung.  She  could  not  breathe! 
He  kissed  her !  Claimed  her  for  his  mother.  He  was 
sapping  her  strength,  her  very  life! 

She  screamed;  the  child  ran  off.  Across  the  room, 
then,  he  stopped,  and  stood  looking  at  her,  sadly.  As 
she  looked  back  at  him  his  physical  deformity  and 
mental  abortion  suddenly  fell  away,  and  she  saw  only 
the  purity  of  his  innocent  spirit — the  soul  of  the  little 
baby  she  had  known  and  loved!  In  this  light  of  true 
knowledge  he  was  beautiful.  Shining  from  his  lonely 
eyes  there  came  to  her  a  pleading.  He  needed  her. 
How  he  needed  her ! 

"Wake  up,  Miss  Marjy,  wake  up!"  Mary  Anna's 
voice  sounded  in  Marjory's  ears. 

Continuing  to  tremble  violently,  Marjory  opened  her 
eyes  to  see  the  anxious  face  of  her  faithful  maid  bend- 
ing above  her,  a  candle  held  high  in  the  air. 


278     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Law,  chile,  I  thunk  it  were  Jedgement  when  I  heard 
yo'  screams,"  she  said  in  a  relieved  voice  as  she  saw 
her  mistress  was  all  right.  "Dat  nightmare  you  was 
ridin'  was  fairly  standin'  on  its  tail,"  she  chuckled. 

Marjory  lay  looking  up  into  the  good-natured  face 
for  several  moments,  and  then,  the  memory  of  her 
dream  returning,  she  turned  upon  her  pillow  to  bury 
her  face  in  its  depths. 

"Why,  honey,  why,  darlin',  what's  de  matter?"  Mary 
Anna  asked,  as  great  sobs  shook  her  mistress  from 
head  to  foot.  "Tell  yo'  ole  Mary  Anna  what's  de 
matter,  chile!" 

Slowly  Marjory  turned  back  toward  the  sympa- 
thetic dark  face.  "He — he  probably  is  my  boy!"  she 
said,  "and — and — it  doesn't  matter  what  he  is  like,  it 
is  my  duty  to  take  him  away  from  that  place !"  Then 
before  Mary  Anna  could  ask  the  meaning  of  these 
words,  Marjory  went  on: 

"What  time  is  it,  Mary  Anna?" 

"Why,  lemme  see,"  Mary  Anna  said  dazedly,  going 
over  and  peering  at  the  clock.  "Why,  it's  daytime, 
after  six  o'clock."  Then  walking  to  the  window  she 
let  the  shade  fly  up  and  looked  out,  in  her  endeavor 
to  see  the  sky,  over  a  sea  of  roofs  and  chimney  tops 
toward  tall  buildings  massed  darkly.  "I  declar,"  she 
said  impatiently,  "dis  New  Yawk  is  so  full  of  buildin's 
nobody  can't  see  nothin' !  Dat  clock's  right  though, 
honey,  so  it  must  be  mornin'." 

But  before  she  could  finish  her  sentence  Marjory 
was  out  of  bed  and  hurrying  into  her  clothes. 

"Get  dressed,  Mary  Anna,"  she  said.  "Last  night 
I  told  you  my  boy  had  died  in  that  orphan  asylum. 
I  lied — and  for  the  second  time!  He  is  living,  Mary 
Anna,  I  feel  sure  he  is  living,  and  I'm  going  to  do  my 
duty!" 

At  these  words  the  latter  part  of  Marjory's  dream 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     279 

returned  to  her  consciousness  in  seeming  encourage- 
ment, and  she  thought  that  she  could  now  perceive  an 
intellect  and  real  possibilities  behind  that  loose-lipped, 
idiotic  face.  She  felt  exalted  spiritually,  and  a  prom- 
ise of  a  happier  future  came  up  to  stimulate  her  imag- 
ination. Every  good  instinct  in  her  crowded  for- 
ward, and  in  spite  of  her  involuntary  physical  repul- 
sion for  the  little  half-wit,  the  pure  light  of  Marjory's 
rea!  mother-love  burned  strong  and  true,  transform- 
ing duty  into  a  sacred  right. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

OLD  Judge  Sawyer  laid  down  his  paper.  Leaning  ea- 
gerly forward  his  eyes  pierced  those  of  the  small  group 
before  him.  "I  tell  you  people  you  don't  know  what 
it  would  mean  to  this  country  of  ours,  to  the  world 
in  fact,  to  have  constructive  instead  of  destructive 
methods  for  the  curing  of  crime !  The  man  who  wrote 
that  article,"  pointing  to  a  paragraph  in  his  paper,  "has 
the  right  idea.  By  Jove,  I  wish " 

But  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence  he  broke  off 
sharply,  for  a  girlishly  dressed  elderly  matron  in  the 
group,  getting  up,  excused  herself  and  rustled  haugh- 
tily off  down  the  hotel  veranda. 

Judge  Sawyer  smiled.  "Another  lady  bored!"  he 
said  whimsically,  looking  toward  Marjory,  who  smiled 
back  and  said: 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  mind  Mother.  She  still  thinks  it 
isn't  ladylike  to  listen  to  such  conversations!" 

The  judge  resumed  his  monologue  at  the  point 
where  he  had  broken  off.  "Do  you  know  what  is  one 
of  our  gravest  faults,  the  thing  that  keeps  civilization 
back  more  than  almost  anything  else?"  he  went  on, 
running  his  hand  through  his  gray  hair. 

"Now,  Judge,  cut  out  the  'preach',"  said  a  younger 
man  dressed  in  immaculate  white  flannels.  Then  after 
indulging  in  an  obtrusive  yawn  he  jumped  up  with 
alacrity.  "Come  on  and  play  me  a  round.  Great 
morning  for  golf." 

Judge  Sawyer  frowned,  but  concluding  that  any 
show  of  annoyance  toward  this  group  of  summer 
idlers  would  do  no  good,  he  only  shook  his  head  at 
the  man's  request. 

Laughing,  the  younger  man  turned  to  Marjory. 
280 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    281 

"How  about  you?  Doesn't  that  tempt  you?"  waving 
his  hand  off  toward  the  links  that  lay  like  an  emerald 
far  beneath  them  near  the  shore  of  the  turquoise  bay. 

Marjory  shook  her  head. 

"Now  this  isn't  a  morning  on  which  to  ride  hob- 
bies!" the  man  said,  laying  his  hand  affectionately  on 
the  judge's  shoulders.  "Who  will  play  with  me?" 

"I  will,  Billy,"  a  lady  in  the  group  volunteered, 
standing  up.  "Come  on,"  and  they  strolled  off. 

Judge  Sawyer  watched  them  disappear;  then  sighed. 

"Yes,  serious-minded  folk  are  cranks  and  bores, 
nowadays.  I  very  much  fear  that  joy-rides  have  taken 
the  place  of  hobbies!  It  seems  to  be  the  generally 
accepted  idea  in  America  that  we  have  too  much  humor 
to  be  serious — except  about  making  money,  of  course ! 
One  of  our  most  blatant  faults,"  he  harked  back  to  his 
original  and  favorite  theme,  "is  our  primitive  belief 
in  trite  and  wholly  artificial  sayings !  Why,  they  have 
come  to  have  the  force  of  incontrovertible  dogma,  im- 
pregnating our  whole  social  family.  Who  of  you 
has  not  quoted  'once  a  thief,  always  a  thief  when 
you  hear  of  some  poor  devil,  an  ex-convict,  who  has 
been  turned  down  when  looking  for  an  honest  job 
until  in  sheer  desperation  he  goes  wrong  again — or 
goes  wrong  because  he  has  never  been  shown  how  to 
go  right?  Who  of  you  doesn't  believe  that  'blood  is 
thicker  than  water'  when  a  chap  with  a  chance,  plus  a 
family  backing  him,  does  succeed?  'Where  there's 
smoke,  there  must  be  fire'  is  another  phrase  which  has 
put  many  a  man,  found  in  a  suspicious  position,  in 
jail  on  circumstantial  evidence.  'Like  father,  like  son' 
drags  down  the  would-be  success  of  a  son  sprung 
from  a  father  who  has  proven  a  failure — and  oh,  a 
hundred  like  phrases!  Words,  words,  idle  phrases, 
they  surround  us  from  almost  the  minute  of  our  birth, 
and  do  more  to  destroy  us  than  anything  else! 


282     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"But  I'm  a  bore  again,"  Judge  Sawyer  said,  con- 
tritely smiling  at  the  women  about  him  busy  with  their 
knitting,  while  the  men  sat  around  flicking  the 
ashes  from  their  cigarettes,  idly  taking  their  summer 
vacations,  their  much  talked-of  and  needed  rest. 

The  falsity  of  the  idea  that  idleness  and  aimless- 
ness  assures  the  attainment  of  rest  flashed  over  the 
judge's  keen  mind.  How  absurd  it  was  !  All  a  part, 
however,  of  the  present-day  extravagance,  and  the 
failure  to  appreciate  life's  true  values. 

"But  Judge,"  a  young  fellow  who  had  been  listen- 
ing said,  "you  can't  change  a  man,  sir.  You 


"That's  it.  There  you  go!"  the  judge  broke  in  in- 
dignantly. "Same  old  phrase.  If  I  had  let  you  finish 
your  sentence  you  would  have  said  :  'You  can't  make 
a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear/  Or  more  likely  still 
you  would  have  said  something  wisely  foolish  about 
'the  criminal  class,  you  know'!  Now  wouldn't  you?" 

The  young  man  grinned,  but  before  he  could  make 
answer  the  judge  hurried  on,  a  deep  earnestness  fill- 
ing his  eyes  as  he  spoke  :  "There  is  no  radical  change 
necessary  to  make  a  bad  man  into  a  good  man.  The 
'remaking  of  men'  —  another  one  of  your  trite  sayings 
—  simply  means  that  a  man's  energies  are  applied  to 
constructive  instead  of  destructive  work.  They  are 
the  same  energies;  and  evolution,  not  revolution,  is 
what  happens  when  he  has  educated  and  developed  his 
better  self.  I  believe  no  man,  unless  he  inherits  some 
abnormality,  is  fundamentally  bad.  In  all  my  judicial 
experience  in  the  criminal  courts  I  have  yet  to  find 
a  man  who  is  entirely  devoid  of  any  good  quality.  Al- 
most all  of  them  possess  the  splendid  quality  of  loy- 
alty ;  and  loyalty  is  a  pretty  good  base  to  build  upon  !" 

"But  how  about  Lombroso's  theory,  sir?"  said  some- 
one else  in  the  group. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     283 

Judge  Sawyer  sniffed  with  disgust.  "So  that  idea, 
too,  is  still  prevalent!  Destructive  ideas,  like  gossip, 
seem  to  leave  their  stench  even  with  'fair-minded 
Americans'  too  busy  to  read!  Why,  my  dear  boy, 
don't  you  know  that  that  cock,  Lombroso,  has  been 
proven  absolutely  wrong  ?  Without  question  the  world 
accepted  his  superficial  statement  that  the  'criminal 
class'  possessed  certain  physical  marks  which  set  them 
apart  from  other  men.  To  prove  this  theory  Lom- 
broso measured  the  ears,  nose,  eyes,  and  mouth,  of 
only  men  in  prison!  Brilliant  thing  to  do,  wasn't  it? 
Charles  Goring  came  along  and,  making  measurements 
and  examinations  on  men  outside  as  well  as  inside 
of  prison,  Lombroso's  theory  went  up  like  that!''  puff- 
ing the  smoke  from  his  cigar  skyward.  "There  is  no 
difference!  Criminals  are  natural  men — not  always 
normal  men,  understand.  Some  of  them  are  born  with 
an  abnormality,  some  are  weak  and  some  are  sick,  but 
they  are  all  men,  with  man's  sorrows  and  joys,  and 
each  and  every  one  of  them  possesses  in  some  degree 
the  spirit  of  Christ  which  will  finally  redeem  the 
world." 

The  group  was  silent.  The  judge's  eyes,  Lincoln- 
esque  in  their  understanding  sympathy,  seemed  to  see  a 
vision  which  the  rest  of  them  could  not  see. 

Finally  the  young  fellow  who  had  first  spoken  again 
broke  the  silence  with  a  flippancy  which  sprang  from 
his  lack  of  years. 

"Judge,  I  really  do  think  you  should  commit  a  crime 
and  be  put  in  awhile,"  he  laughed.  "Upon  my  word, 
I  believe  you'd  make  friends  with  the  crooks! — But 
as  Billy  said,  the  day  is  too  fine  to  be  riding  hobbies !" 
and  getting  down  from  his  perch  this  future  presi- 
dent of  the  United  States — according  to  his  fond 
mother — adjusted  his  tie  and  continued  urbanely: 

"Who  wants  to  play  a  set  of  tennis?    How  about 


284     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

you,  faire  ladye?"  turning  with  much  manner  toward 
Marjory.  "Sorry  you  can't  play,  sir,"  sympathetically 
to  the  elderly  judge. 

Marjory  shook  her  head.  "I'm  getting  too  old  for 
such  'strenuosity'  as  Mary  Anna  says,"  she  smiled. 
"Better  ask  one  of  the  girls." 

"Too  old !"  the  young  fellow  exclaimed  with  a  look 
of  frank  admiration  at  Marjory's  fair  face  and  figure. 
"By  Jove,  you  don't  look  one  day  older  than  your  son." 

Then  he  bit  his  lip.  What  a  fool  he  was  to  have 
made  such  a  faux  pas!  Though  the  little  hunchback 
was  as  small  as  a  child  of  ten  or  twelve,  every  one 
at  the  resort  knew  he  was  of  age.  He  hoped  she 
understood  that  in  referring  to  her  son  he  had  not 
had  in  mind  the  little  fellow's  mental  lack  or  de- 
formity. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  have  to  find  someone  else  to  play 
with  me.  Bye-bye,"  and  the  callow  youth  was  off 
down  the  veranda  toward  a  bevy  of  giggling  girls 
looking  as  gay  as  a  rainbow  in  their  myriad-colored 
sweaters. 

The  group  about  the  elderly  judge  began  to  scatter, 
That  much-talked-of  hybrid,  known  as  summer  so- 
oiety,  which  is  composed  in  large  part  of  the  tired 
business  man  and  the  tireless  social  woman,  is  seldom 
content  to  stay  long  in  one  place.  The  fall  was  ap- 
proaching, and  with  the  first  tang  of  coming  frost 
these  vacation  idlers  were  at  once  on  the  move  for 
another  place.  Some  now  went  to  pack  up,  others 
to  see  about  reservations,  and  soon  one  and  all  had 
departed,  leaving  Judge  Sawyer  and  Marjory  alone 
upon  the  veranda. 

"How  is  the  new  book  going?"  the  judge  asked 
kindly.  "And  what  is  it  about?" 

Marjory  lifted  lovely  eyes  from  the  knitting  in 
her  lap  in  very  much  the  same  way  she  used  to  do 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     285 

as  a  younger  woman,  though  she  was  now  totally  un- 
conscious of  their  childlike  appeal.  "It's  not  going," 
she  said.  "Somehow  I  don't  seem  able  to  write  any 
more,  Judge." 

"Nonsense,"  he  said.  "That's  just  your  imagination. 
Why,  don't  you  remember  when  you  were  writing 
your  fairy  book  you  often  felt  the  same  discourage- 
ment?" Then  looking  affectionately  down  at  Mar- 
jory, he  continued : 

"I'll  never  forget  your  telling  me  about  that  secret 
book !  Its  writing  was  a  very  dark  secret  indeed  then, 
wasn't  it?  My!  that  doesn't  seem  nine  years  ago, 
does  it?" 

Marjory  smiled :  "Nine  years  is  a  long  time,  Judge," 
she  said.  "But  it  has  been  very  wonderful  to  me  to 
meet  and  know  you  again  this  summer.  It  is  strange 
that  we  both  should  have  come  back  to  this  place,  isn't 
it?  But  about  my  writing — the  fairy  book's  publi- 
cation made  me  very  happy;  but  somehow  I  haven't 
seemed  to  feel  the  need  of  writing  since  that 
time.  Yet  I  long  to  write,  too!  There  seems  to  be 
something  in  me  that  I  want  to  express  in  that  way, 
and  yet,  since  I  took  Stanley  from  the  Ho — the  Sana- 
tarium  in  which  I  had  him  because  of  his  affliction,  I 
— well  I  guess  I  haven't  had  as  much  time  on  my 
hands.  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I  have  not  writ- 
ten another  book." 

"Well,  you  will  write  it  sooner  or  later,"  Judge 
Sawyer  said.  "You  are  of  the  creative  type,  I  think, 
and  your  boy  won't  need  you  so  constantly  now,  as 
you  tell  me  he  is  so  very  much  better." 

"Yes,  he  is  better,"  Marjory  agreed,  but  her  eyes 
even  as  she  spoke  were  very  sad.  "That  psychologist 
has  helped  him  wonderfully;  more  so  even  than  the 
surgeons,  though  of  course  they  helped  him  too.  But 
he  can  never  be  really  normal,  Judge.  He  is  over 


286     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

twenty-one,  you  know,  and  has  and  always  will  have 
the  mind  of  a  child." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  the  judge  said  sympathetically. 
"Poor  little  woman,  it  has  been  very  hard  for  you." 

"Oh  no,  it's  not  that,"  Marjory  hastened  to  say. 
"It's— it's  the  fact  that " 

Then  breaking  off  she  said  impulsively :  "Oh  judge 
Sawyer,  I — I  wish  I  could  tell  you  something  I've 
never  told  anyone!  Somehow  you — remind  me  so 
much  of  somebody  who  was  lovelier  and  sweeter  to 
me  than  anyone  else  in  all  the  world,  that  I  feel  I've 
known  you  forever!" 

The  judge  inclined  his  head  in  acknowledgment  of 
these  words,  then  looking  at  Marjory  said : 

"And  you  have  always  since  I  met  you  reminded 
me  of  someone  else  too — the  girl  I  wanted  to  make 
my  wife.  That  was  long  before  you  were  born." 

Marjory's  eyes  took  on  an  added  gleam  of  interest. 
But  the  judge  hastened  to  say,  rising  from  his  chair 
as  he  did  so: 

"Suppose  we  walk  down  toward  the  bay.  This 
deliciously  crisp  air  makes  one  want  to  stretch  lazy 
muscles  in  a  long  walk.  It  won't  be  many  days  now 
before  my  stretching  of  lazy  muscles  will  be  at  an 
end,  temporarily." 

Marjory  looked  puzzled;  but  silently  waiting  for 
an  explanation  she  accompanied  the  judge  through  the 
artificially  gardened  grounds  surrounding  the  hotel, 
until  they  gained  the  relief  of  flower-studded  fields. 
Crossing  these  they  struck  into  a  piece  of  untouched 
woodland,  through  which  lay  the  more  direct  access 
to  the  shore.  Neither  had  spoken  since  they  left  the 
hotel;  until,  the  judge's  last  words  recurring  to  Mar- 
jory, she  asked  him : 

"What  did  you  mean  just  now,  Judge  Sawyer,  about 
not  being  able  to  stretch  lazy  muscles?" 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    287 

They  had  now  reached  the  edge  of  the  water  on  a 
point  jutting  far  out  to  sea.  Judge  Sawyer's  eyes 
lighted,  and  without  answering  Marjory's  question  he 
said: 

"To  me  this  is  the  most  beautiful  coast  in  the  world 
—but  then  I'm  prejudiced,  I  suppose.  I've  always  lived 
upon  it."  Pointing  toward  the  north  across  the  foam- 
flecked  blue  expanse,  he  continued.  "About  sixty  miles 
up  from  here  is  my  old  home  town  of  Dunham.  I  left 
it  a  good  many  years  ago.  Down  there,"  pointing 
south,  "is  the  next  most  beautiful  place  I  know;  but 
it  is  too  near  Hampton,  so  I  come  up  here  for  a  rest. 
Have  you  ever  been  down  there,  down  to  Thornley- 
by-the-Sea?" 

Marjory  started  visibly;  then  answering  in  the  af- 
firmative, she  recalled  mental  pictures  of  the  place  as 
Judge  Sawyer  went  on  talking.  The  night  of  her 
first  meeting  with  Denneth  flashed  back  to  her.  Again 
she  saw  the  moon-kissed  sea  come  rolling  in  in  great 
undulating  waves.  She  recalled  the  story  Denneth 
had  told  her  of  his  mother's  death.  She  remembered 
also  the  telling  of  his  whimsical  imaginings,  and  that 
she  had  in  turn  told  him  one  of  the  little  fairy  tales 
which  had  since  been  published  in  her  book. 

His  handsome  face  rose  up  before  her.  Her  heart 
quickened.  Once  more  she  lived  those  orange-red  and 
russet-brown  weeks  in  camp,  where  the  homey  smell 
of  roasting  chestnuts  intermingled  in  her  memory  with 
the  glimpses  of  shy  deer,  the  flash  of  stray  red  fox,  the 
call  of  bob- whites  from  the  harvested  fields.  How  she 
had  loved  him! 

"When  I  see  all  this  beauty,  this  evidence  of  one 
supreme  and  munificent  Creator,  I  cannot  but  feel  how 
wrong,  how  inexcusably  wrong  and  spiritually  de- 
structive a  penal  system  is  which  shuts  all  this  out 
from  the  sight  and  life  of  any  man,"  Judge  Sawyer 


288     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

was  saying.  "Why,  I  knew  a  boy,  a  mere  lad  he  was, 
who  loved  this  rock-bound  coast  better  than  every- 
thing in  the  world — that  is,  besides  his  mother.  He 
was  devoted  to  her,"  and  the  judge's  eyes  softened. 
"That  boy  knew  every  stick  and  stone,  every  flower 
and  blade  of  grass  around  Dunham.  He  loved  every 
bird,  and  all  wild  creatures,  and  they  loved  him.  As 
I  look  back  at  him  across  the  years,  he  seems  the  very 
embodiment  of  freedom.  He  was  essentially  nature's 
freeman.  Yet  it  was  I  who  had  to  sentence  that  boy 
to  State's  Prison  for  ten  years! 

"It  makes  me  feel  physically  sick  yet  to  think  of 
what  a  nature  like  his  must  have  suffered  when  shut 
away.  He  does  not  know  it,  of  course;  he  escaped 
from  prison,  and  I  lost  track  of  him  then;  but  he 
has  probably  had  more  to  do  with  shaping  my  career 
than  any  other  one  influence  in  my  life." 

Judge  Sawyer's  last  few  sentences  had  destroyed  her 
mental  pictures  of  her  first  days  of  happiness  with 
Denneth,  and  now  to  Marjory's  mind  came  the  mem- 
ory of  her  ensuing  years  of  sadness.  For  the  first  time 
the  realization  of  Denneth' s,  and  not  her  suffering, 
swept  over  her.  Denneth,  like  this  other  boy  of  whom 
the  judge  had  been  speaking,  had  been  one  of  "nature's 
freemen."  Her  heart  throbbed  with  sympathy,  and 
failing  to  fight  against  this  emotion  as  she  had  always 
done  heretofore,  she  now  began  to  see  her  desertion 
of  Denneth  in  its  true  light.  But  the  judge  was  still 
talking.  She  must  listen !  Struggling  to  put  her  own 
thoughts  from  her,  she  heard  him  say: 

"You  asked  me  just  now  what  I  meant  by  saying 
it  would  soon  be  impossible  for  me  to  stretch  my  lazy 
muscles.  I  rather  hesitate  to  tell  you,  and  yet  I  want 
you  to  know  my  secret,  just  as  you  told  me  yours  nine 
years  ago." 

Marjory  turned  eyes  of  real  admiration  and  friend- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     289 

ship  up  to  his.  "In  two  weeks  from  to-day,"  the 
judge  went  on,  "I  go  to  State's  Prison!" 

Marjory  gave  a  start  at  these  words.  What  could 
the  judge  mean?  His  expression  made  her  under- 
stand that  he  was  not  in  jest.  Yet  what  else  could 
such  a  statement  mean? 

"Of  course  there  is  some  explanation,"  she  said. 
Then  smiling  whimsically:  "Don't  keep  me  in  'sus- 
penders' as  Mary  Anna  says.  "I'm  a  mere  woman  you 
know,  with  a  woman's  curiosity!" 

The  judge  returned  her  smile  affectionately.  Then 
his  face  becoming  serious  again,  he  said : 

"The  explanation  is  this  :  As  I  said  just  now  to  that 
group  I  was  boring  to  extinction,  my  judicial  experi- 
ence has  led  me  to  believe  that  all  men  can  be  made 
into  law-abiding  citizens  if  the  right  means  are  em- 
ployed toward  them.  I  have  known  hundreds  of  'crim- 
inals' before  and  after  confinement  in  our  penal  in- 
stitutions. With  a  few  exceptions,  I  have  yet  to  find 
one  who  has  been  benefited  by  those  institutions  as 
they  are  now  run.  Common  sense  tells  me  therefore 
that  there  must  be  some  fault  with  the  system  itself. 
A  fault  seldom  lies  entirely  with  one  side.  If  our  pres- 
ent system  makes  criminals  instead  of  wwmakes  them, 
then  we  should  do  away  with  the  present  system.  But 
you  see,"  his  eyes  looking  afar  off  as  though  seeing  a 
vision,  as  they  were  wont  to  do  at  such  times, 
"I  have  been  able  to  make  my  observations  only 
from  the  outside.  In  order  to  be  capable  of  really  un- 
derstanding the  thing,  I  must  get  the  viewpoint  of  the 
man  inside  looking  out,  as  well  as  that  of  the  man 
outside  looking  in !  I  have  made  my  arrangements  to 
enter  the  Warsaw  prison  near  Hampton.  It  was  rather 
a  difficult  thing  to  arrange,  I  must  admit,"  and  his 
mouth  moulded  itself  into  the  lines  of  a  fighter. 
"Those  who  have  once  been  Egyptian  slave  drivers 


290     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

with  a  band  of  Israelites  in  their  power,  so  to  speak, 
resent  interference !  And  investigation  is  the  last  thing 
in  the  world  the  prison  officials  want.  But  I  have 
booked  up  for  a  two  weeks'  stay  in  Warsaw.  When  I 
am  released,  I  shall  doubtless  know  more  about  my 
zebra  brotherhood.  Oh  those  shameful,  degrading, 
cruel  stripes!"  he  burst  out. 

"But  Judge,"  Marjory  exclaimed  anxiously,  "you'll 
be  thrown  with  criminals!  Aren't  you  afraid,  and 
won't  the  life  be  too  hard  for  you?"  looking  at  the 
man's  delicately  featured  yet  virile  face. 

Judge  Sawyer  brushed  back  his  white  hair  with  a 
typical  gesture.  He  was  beginning  to  show  signs  of 
his  advanced  years  in  spite  of  the  fire  of  eternal  youth 
which  burned  in  his  eyes. 

"It  must  be  dreadful  in  those  places!"  Marjory 
continued,  shuddering,  and  trying  to  force  down  the 
accusing  voice  of  conscience  that  the  judge's  words 
had  provoked  in  her. 

"Yes,  it  is  dreadful.  Far  more  dreadful,  I  imag- 
ine, than  any  of  us  know!"  he  said  sadly.  "That  is 
exactly  why  I  am  going  to  live  in  such  a  place  for 
a  while.  I  have  reached  a  point  in  my  life  where 
my  conscience  demands  that  I  know  exactly  to  what 
sort  of  a  place  I  have  been  sentencing  men.  Until 
I  do  know,  I  have  determined  never  to  sentence 
another  man  to  prison.  The  burden  of  this  uncer- 
tainty has  lain  upon  my  heart  a  long  time — 1  am  now 
no  longer  willing  to  be  the  means  through  which  the 
law  throws  men  who  have  erred  upon  the  refuse 
heap — for  such  is  prison — until  I  have  seen  for  my- 
self that  there  is  no  better  way  to  treat  them." 

Marjory  was  deadly  pale  and  trembled  as  she  spoke. 
"But  judge,"  she  said,  "you'll  be  thrown  in  direct  con- 
tact with  terrible  creatures.  Why,  you'll  be  living, 
eating,  sleeping  with  them!  You  may  be  at  their 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    291 

mercy!  I'm  afraid  for  you  to  do  it,  even  if  you're 
not!" 

Judge  Sawyer  shook  his  head  smilingly.  "You 
know  my  pet  theory,"  he  said.  "I  believe  all  crim- 
inals are  possible  men,  all  men  possible  criminals. 
Heredity  plus  environment  produces  all  sorts  of  char- 
acters among  us.  Nevertheless  we  are  all  good  and 
bad  alike.  From  both  heredity  and  environment  we 
are  all  capable  of  developing  the  good  and  discarding 
the  bad.  There  is  no  one  who  is  unredeemable  save 
those  poor  souls  perhaps  who  are  mentally  lacking. 
And  even  they  should  have  every  care  and  be  given 
every  chance  to  develop  their  better  and  not  their 
worse  side.  You  see,"  and  his  lips  smiled,  although 
his  eyes  had  again  taken  on  the  look  which  distin- 
guished him.  "I  could  never  be  afraid  of  anyone  in 
the  face  of  my  unalterable  belief  that  there  is  more 
good  than  bad  in  everyone." 

Marjory  stared  at  him,  a  look  of  distress  now 
clouding  her  eyes.  Thinking  it  was  anxiety  for  his 
welfare,  the  judge  went  on : 

"You  mustn't  worry,  little  woman.  I  am  probably 
safer  in  prison  than  anywhere  else,  as  far  as  personal 
harm  from  criminals  is  concerned.  You  have  prob- 
ably never  known  a  criminal — that  is  one  branded  a 
criminal  by  the  law " 

But  he  got  no  further.  At  these  words,  which 
seemed  almost  an  accusation,  the  flood  of  Marjory's 
long  pent-up  emotions  burst  its  bounds;  and  seating 
herself  upon  a  rock  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Judge  Sawyer,  alarmed,  bent  solicitously  forward. 

"Why,  my  dear  child,  what  in  the  world  is  the 
matter?" 

Without  answering,  and  endeavoring  to  shut  out 
the  sounds  and  sights  about  her,  Marjory  tried  to 
think  out  the  problem  which  suddenly  presented  it- 


292     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

self.  Should  she  tell  this  judge,  her  one  true  friend, 
the  secret  she  had  kept  so  long,  the  secret  which 
seemed  sometimes  to  be  sapping  her  very  life  as  well 
as  her  happiness?  She  never  looked  into  the  foolish 
face  of  the  little  hunchback  without  having  to  drive 
the  handsome  face  of  Denneth  from  her  mind.  The 
years  of  silent  suppressed  suffering  had  begun  to  tell 
upon  her.  Even  the  outlet  of  devoted  attention  to 
the  invalid  boy  had  failed  to  satisfy  her.  The  won- 
derful illumination  of  the  judge's  optimistic  faith, 
coupled  with  the  words  which  displayed  his  spirit 
of  true  Christianity,  had  aroused  Marjory's  old  long- 
ing to  be  of  more  use  in  the  world.  The  recollection 
of  her  disbelief  in  and  selfish  cynicism  respecting  Den- 
neth during  the  dark  hours  when  he  had  needed  her 
most  rose  up  to  accuse  her.  She  lived  over  every 
detail  of  those  weeks.  The  past  years  in  which  she 
had  made  no  effort  to  comfort  him  smote  her. 

In  self-abasement  she  reflected  that  she  did  not 
even  know  where  he  was — that,  true  to  her  word, 
she  had  put  him  out  of  her  life! — had  never  even  at- 
tempted to  find  him.  Yet  legally  he  was  her  hus- 
band, if  still  alive — the  father  of  the  child  she  had 
resented  as  not  being  normal.  She  now  asked  her- 
self how  it  were  possible  that  she  had  ever  imagined 
Stanley  could  have  been  born  other  than  he  was,  when 
she  herself  had  been  so  lacking  in  goodness  or  spir- 
ituality of  thought?  The  poor  little  fellow  had  been 
given  her  as  he  was,  in  direct  punishment  for  her 
conduct  and  bearing  toward  the  man  she  had  loved! 

Because  of  her  present  ability  to  see  things  beyond 
the  horizon  of  popular  prejudice,  she  now  saw  how 
despicable  her  desertion  of  Denneth  had  been.  For 
the  first  time  she  understood,  through  the  clarity  of 
vision  she  caught  from  the  judge,  that,  though  in  itself 
debasing,  Denneth's  theft  had  not  necessarily  made  of 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     293 

him  a  thing  debased.  At  this  thought,  so  entirely  new 
to  her  mind,  a  mind  which  had  fought  against  any  sense 
of  justice  toward  the  man  who  had  ruined  her  life, 
Marjory  began  to  view  Denneth  in  the  same  big  way 
in  which  Judge  Sawyer  would  have  viewed  him.  His 
chivalry  and  pure  devotion  returned  to  her  newly 
awakened  consciousness  of  what  his  love  had  really 
meant  in  her  life,  and  in  an  illuminating  flash  she 
felt  that  his  good  qualities  minimized  his  faults.  She 
could  remain  silent  no  longer.  She  must  confide  in 
some  one.  Jumping  up  she  said  to  the  astonished 
judge : 

"Judge  Sawyer,  I  am  a  wicked,  wicked  woman!  I 
have  known  a  criminal !  I — I — am  married  to  a  crim- 
inal!" and  then  in  a  torrent  of  self -abuse  she  told 
the  man  before  her  the  story  of  her  marriage  and  its 
disastrous  end. 

For  a  long  while  after  she  ceased  speaking,  Judge 
Sawyer  stood  silently  gazing  off  across  the  blue  bay. 

It  was  hard  for  him  to  connect  this  exquisitely 
dainty  little  woman  by  his  side  with  the  story  she 
had  just  told  him.  In  view  of  his  knowledge  of  her 
and  her  charming  sweetness  of  nature,  her  appalling 
selfishness  as  disclosed  by  her  own  words  seemed  al- 
most unbelievable  to  him.  Yet  from  the  moment  of 
their  meeting  Judge  Sawyer  had  understood  Mrs. 
Matthews's  character,  and  had  guessed  at  the  influ- 
ence such  a  person  was  likely  to  exert  over  a  woman 
placed  beneath  her  care  as  Marjory  had  been  placed 
by  right  of  birth?  So  Judge  Sawyer  tried  to  excuse 
Marjory's  conduct  by  mentally  shifting  the  blame 
from  her  to  her  mother.  He  felt  certain  that  that 
stylish  matron  had  played  no  small  part  in  Marjory's 
failure  to  live  up  to  her  marriage  vow.  He  heard 
enough  of  their  conversations  together  to  know  that, 
in  spite  of  Marjory's  superior  strength  of  mind,  her 


294     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

mother  had  instilled  into  her  daughter  a  dread  of 
adverse  criticism  to  such  an  extent  that  she  used  it 
to  bolster  up  her  fast  waning  power  of  influence. 

Gradually  Judge  Sawyer  saw  and  understood  the 
entire  course  of  Marjory's  married  life  as  surely  and 
as  well  as  if  he  had  been  present  through  it  all.  It 
was  just  one  more  case  of  a  mother  continuing  to 
rule  her  daughter  after  the  daughter  had  reached  the 
age  where  she  should  have  been  allowed  to  rule  her- 
self. He  was  convinced  that  Marjory,  poor  child,  like 
many  others,  had  let  her  parent's  meddlesome  criti- 
cism, false  ideals,  and  foolish  phrases  stand  between 
her  and  happiness. 

Slowly  bringing  his  thoughtful  eyes  from  the  deep 
color  of  the  bay,  upon  which  he  had  watched  unseeing 
the  gleam  of  white  boats  as  their  sails  caught  the  light, 
he  looked  sympathetically  into  Marjory's  upturned 
face. 

"Where  is  he  now?  Of  course  you  let  him  know 
of  your  boy's  birth?" 

Marjory  winced;  but  continued  to  look  bravely  up. 
"After  I  gained  the  safety  of  the  hospital  I  made  no 
attempt  to  find  out  anything  about  Denneth,"  she  an- 
swered. "In  fact  I  made  the  opposite  effort.  I  would 
not  allow  a  newspaper  in  my  room.  Entering  under  an 
assumed  name  I  received  no  mail.  I  did  not  want  to 
know  what  had  become  of  him!  As  I  told  you  just 
now,  at  that  time  my  one  object  and  aim  in  life  was  to 
protect  my  name  and  my  baby's  name  from  Denneth's 
shame. 

"Oh  I  know  it  was  dreadfully  wicked  and  selfish  of 
me,"  she  hastened  to  say,  as  the  judge  was  about  to 
speak,  "but  I  did  not  see  that  then,  Judge  Sawyer." 

"I  understand,"  he  said  kindly.  "But  you  must 
surely  have  in  some  way  heard  whether  or  no  your 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    295 

husband  was  apprehended.  Something  of  his  trial  must 
have  reached  you " 

"No,  I  know  absolutely  nothing  about  him,"  Mar- 
jory broke  in.  Then  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  suffer- 
ing: "I  wish  to  God  I  did!" 

Judge  Sawyer's  eyes  took  in  the  fair  quivering  face 
in  one  quick  glance.  Then  becoming  lost  in  thought 
he  once  more  stood  gazing  out  to  sea. 

As  Marjory  watched  him  she  felt  sure  that  in  the 
judge's  big  and  generous  mind  her  conduct  toward 
Denneth  must  seem  inexcusable  indeed.  Yet  she  re- 
alized also,  as  she  watched  his  sympathetic  far-seeing 
dark  eyes,  that  if  anyone  could  really  understand  and 
forgive  her  her  life  of  selfishness  in  connection  with 
Denneth,  this  man  could. 

She  wished  she  had  known  him  during  those  try- 
ing hours  immediately  after  his  theft.  Perhaps 
had  she  known  this  man  at  that  time  she  would  not 
have  made  the  mistake  of  taking  the  road  of  self- 
preservation  instead  of  the  road  of  helpfulness  and 
loyalty  toward  her  husband.  As  this  thought  passed 
through  her  distressed  reason  her  conscience  told  her 
that  no  influence,  it  mattered  not  how  good,  could  or 
would  have  saved  her  from  her  utter  selfishness, 
cloaked  as  it  had  then  been  with  the  excuse  of  her 
boy's  future.  Had  she  not  known  Stanley  Asquith 
just  a  little  while  before?  Had  not  his  influence 
been  as  big  and  splendid  as  that  of  the  judge? 
Had  she  wanted  to,  could  she  not  have  gained  a 
lesson  from  his  conduct  toward  her?  Yet  no;  she 
had  deliberately  thought  of  herself  and  her  own 
happiness  first !  She  had  wanted  to  forget  Denneth — 
to  put  him  and  everything  pertaining  to  him  out 
of  her  life!  She  had  not  made  the  slightest  effort 
to  save  him  after  learning  of  his  theft.  Accepting 
his  money,  just  as  she  had  always  accepted  it,  with 


296    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

no  feeling  except  that  of  her  right  to  do  so,  not- 
withstanding her  refusal  to  use  it,  she  had  fled  to 
Virginia  and  left  him  to  his  fate.  She  had  not 
even  given  him  the  benefit  of  a  doubt,  nor  tried  to 
inquire  why  he  had  taken  the  money;  but  like  other 
self-righteous  and  untempted  folk  who  form  the  un- 
criminal  class  of  society,  she  had  immediately  dubbed 
him  a  thief,  and  as  such  considered  him  to  be  be- 
yond any  consideration,  excuses  or  future  thought ! 

The  days  in  the  little  woodsy  brown  and  green  flat 
with  its  flower  box  windows  and  birch-bark  ornaments 
returned  to  her.  But  like  a  shadow  of  forewarning, 
her  mother's  and  her  own  dissatisfied  phrases  also 
came  to  her  memory.  With  a  sense  of  wonder  she 
compared  the  yearly  sum  of  money  which  Denneth 
was  then  earning  and  on  which  they  were  forced  to 
live  with  that  of  her  present  monthly  milliners'  and 
dressmakers'  bills.  The  difference  was  not  very  great ! 
Yet  on  that  tiny  salary  Denneth  had  managed  to  give 
her  many  little  comforts  and  even  luxuries.  With  a 
gentle  patience  he  had  met  her  and  her  mother's 
ever-growing  demands  and  complaints,  and  managed, 
somehow,  to  give  her  more  and  more. 

She  recalled  the  shabby  gentility  and  cut  of  Den- 
neth's  immaculate  dress,  and  now  compared  it  with 
the  foolish  up-to-dateness  that  she  herself  had  de- 
manded. She  remembered  all  the  thousand  and  one 
little  ways  he  had  tried  to  please  her,  and  with  self- 
hatred  recalled  with  what  fretful  lack  of  appreciation 
such  advances  had  been  met.  Perhaps  it  was  this  very 
thing,  these  fretful  demands  for  more  than  he  could 
afford  to  give  her,  which  had  tempted  him  to  take  the 
money!  She  had  heard  of  just  such  cases. 

She  shuddered  with  this  added  weight  of  responsi- 
bility; and  try  as  she  would  she  could  not  throw  off 
the  new-born  thought  of  her  own  possible  guilt  in 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    297 

the  matter  of  Denneth's  crime.  She  locked  her  hands 
together  in  the  intensity  of  the  mental  suffering  this 
thought  brought,  and  started  to  speak.  But  changing 
her  mind,  as  the  judge  was  still  standing  gazing  off 
across  the  water,  her  memories  held  her.  A  feeling 
of  acute  shame  came  over  her  as  she  went  back  over 
the  time,  so  many  years  before,  when,  learning  that  the 
brightest  crown  of  womanhood  was  soon  to  be  hers, 
she  had  met  it  with  anything  but  a  feeling  of  sacred 
happiness. 

The  judge  turned.  "Do  you  really  mean  what  you 
said  just  now?" 

Marjory  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment.  For  so  long 
she  had  allowed  recollection  of  the  past  to  fill  her  mind 
that  she  had  forgotten  what  her  last  words  to  the 
Judge  had  been.  Recalling  them,  however,  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"Yes.     I  would  give  anything  to  find  him!" 

"You  realize  the  consequences,  of  course?"  Judge 
Sawyer  said. 

Marjory  nodded,  white  to  the  lips. 

Believing  that  her  decision  had  been  made  on  im- 
pulse rather  than  from  the  sense  of  justice  and  bravery 
which  had  been  slowly  developing  in  her  for  years 
past,  he  continued: 

"It  means  disgrace.  It  means  you  will  be  the  sub- 
ject of  scandal  and  slander  and  gossip.  Without  any- 
one to  hide  behind,  you  will  have  to  face  'what  people 
will  say.'  Your  mother  will  doubtless  disclaim  you. 
Your  'friends'  will  desert  you.  'Society'  will  consider 
you  almost  as  much  of  a  menace  as  it  now  considers 
men  like  your  husband.  Trite  sayings,  spoken  in  the 
hollow  voice  of  the  prophets,  will  ascribe  your  son's 
affliction  to  his  heredity.  Every  act  of  yours  will  be 
eagerly  seized  upon  and  twisted  to  fit  some  motive  or 
other  which  never  in  all  probability  had  crossed  your 


298    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

mind.  Even  your  beauty,  or  your  money — which  is  said 
to  talk — will  not  effectively  destroy  the  stigma  which 
will  be  your  lot  as  a  criminal's  wife!  For  you  it  may 
mean " 

"It  may  mean  helping  him,  Judge  Sawyer!"  Mar- 
jory broke  in.  "And  I  want  to  do  that  above  anything 
now."  Then  as  the  judge's  eyes  fired  with  pleasure 
and  admiration  Marjory  went  on: 

"It  is  not  to  my  credit,  goodness  knows!  It  has 
taken  me  long  enough  to  come  to  this  conclusion.  But 
I  am  honest  and  earnest  in  wanting  to  find — and  help 
— my  husband  now !  If  he  is  alive  he  is  my  husband 
still,  you  know,  in  spite  of  modern  ideas.  I  married 
him  for  better  or  for  worse.  Perhaps  I  can  help 
him,  even  yet,"  and  she  swallowed  the  lump  in  her 
throat.  Then  continuing  she  asked : 

"Don't  you  think  if  I  can  help  him,  that  may  in 
part  atone  for  my  previous  selfishness?"  But  now 
completely  losing  her  self-control  the  tears  coursed 
down  her  cheeks.  "Oh,  if  only  I  had  been  more 
like  you,  I  never  would  have  made  this  mistake !"  she 
exclaimed  bitterly.  "I  was  thinking  just  now  what  it 
might  have  meant  to  me  to  have  had  an  influence  like 
yours  in  my  early  life.  I've  been  miserably  unhappy 
with  my  mother,  and  my  father  died  before  I  could 
remember  him.  Yet  I  suppose  had  I  known  you  I 
would  not  really  have  been  kept  from  being  the  self- 
indulged  creature  I  am  to-day !"  Then  thinking  aloud, 
she  continued: 

"Stanley  Asquith  was  like  you,  and  yet " 

The  judge  whirled  upon  her,  hardly  believing  his 
ears.  "Stanley  Asquith,"  he  exclaimed:  "did  you 
know  Stanley  Asquith  ?" 

"Why  yes,"  Marjory  answered  in  surprise.  "Did 
you?" 

"I  knew  him  very  well  indeed,"  Judge  Sawyer  an- 


swered.  "He  was  one  of  the  finest  young  men  who 
ever  lived!" 

The  hypocritical  face  of  old  Deacon  Dennison  came 
before  his  mind's  eye  as  he  said  these  words,  and  he 
wondered  to  himself  how  what  he  had  said  of  Stanley 
Asquith  could  be  true.  Yet  Stanley  had  been  all  he 
had  pronounced  him. 

With  the  memory  of  the  deacon's  face  there  had 
also  come  to  the  judge  the  exquisite  face  of  the  girl 
he  had  loved.  Marjory  noticed  that  a  note  of  bit- 
terness rang  in  his  voice  as  he  went  on  to  say: 

"Stanley  Asquith's  father  married  the  girl  I  wanted 
to  make  my  wife — the  girl  you  have  always  reminded 
me  of." 

"You  knew  Stanley's  mother?"  Marjory  asked  ea- 
gerly. "Oh,  tell  me  about  her.  I — we — Stanley  was 
the  best  friend  I  ever  had  in  my  life!  He — he  was  a 
friend  of  my  husband's,  too.  Do  tell  me  all  about 
him.  What  was  his  mother  like?  In  all  the  years  I 
knew  him  he  never  spoke  of  either  of  his  parents." 

Judge  Sawyer  frowned.  For  a  moment  there  flashed 
in  his  eyes  a  look  of  ugly  hatred  that  sat  strangely 
upon  the  splendid  old  face.  But  this  expression 
quickly  passed,  and  a  renewed  light  of  strength  and 
spirituality  suffused  his  features.  He  spoke  with  his 
wonted  gentleness. 

"I  did  not  know  Stanley  Asquith's  mother,"  he  said. 
"The  girl  I  loved  married  his  father — afterward."  He 
hoped  Marjory  would  not  notice  his  evasion.  Even 
to  this  day  he  resented  acutely  the  marriage  which  had 
brought  the  girl  he  loved  to  dishonor  and  unhappiness. 

Abruptly  dropping  this  subject  he  continued:  "If 
you  really  mean  what  you  have  said,  I  think  I  can  help 
you  to  find  your  husband." 

Marjory  nodded,  then  listened  attentively. 


300    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"You  can  give  me  the  date  his  theft  was  thought 
to  have  taken  place,  can't  you?" 

"Yes,"  Marjory  said,  the  memory  of  those  last  days 
in  Hampton  rendering  her  voice  weak  in  spite  of  her 
efforts  to  control  it.  "It  is  twenty-two  years  ago  to- 
morrow since  I  knew  of  it  and  left  Hampton." 

Judge  Sawyer  made  a  rapid  calculation  and  scribbled 
the  date  in  his  note-book. 

"And  whom  was  he  supposed  to  have  robbed?" 

"The  Commonwealth  Security  Bank  in  Hampton," 
Marjory  answered. 

The  judge  looked  at  her  quickly.  "Are  you  sure?" 
he  asked. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  answered.  "I  am  sure.  Stanley 
Asquith  was  the  president,  you  know,  and  he  gave 
Denneth  his  position  there.  It  was  just  a  few  months 
after  poor  Stanley's  death  that — it  happened,"  she  con- 
cluded nervously. 

"The  Commonwealth  Security  Bank  failed  and  went 
out  of  existence  twenty-one  years  ago,"  Judge  Sawyer 
said.  Then  to  himself,  "I  wonder  if  the  records  have 
been  kept?"  Reassuring  his  momentary  anxiety  he 
thought  further:  "Of  course  the  court  records  will 
show  me  everything,  even  if  I  can't  find  the  others." 
Aloud  he  said  to  Marjory: 

"Well,  don't  worry,  little  woman.  It  is  quite  a  simple 
matter.  'Denneth  Richardson,  Commonwealth  Secur- 
ity, misappropriation  of  funds,  first  part  of  April, 
1893.'  I'll  soon  be  able  to  find  him  for  you,  if  he 
still  lives.  After  that  it  will  rest  with  you  as  to  how 
best  to  help  him — though  of  course  I'm  at  your  com- 
mand if  either  of  you  need  me  in  the  matter.  In  the 
meantime  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

"Yes,  Judge  Sawyer,"  Marjory  said,  vainly  trying 
to  control  the  feeling  of  dizziness  and  physical  illness 
which  was  passing  over  her  at  the  possibility  of  her 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    301 

seeing  Denneth  again.  She  longed  with  all  her  heart 
to  help  the  man  she  had  injured.  She  felt  more  sorry 
for  him  than  she  could  possibly  express;  and  yet — 
the  serious  step  she  had  just  taken — well 

"The  favor  is  this:  If  during  my  stay  in  Warsaw 
I  find  conditions  as  bad  as  my  talks  with  ex-convicts 
now  lead  me  to  believe  they  are,  I  want  you  to  stand 
by  me  in  all  the  efforts  for  reform  which  I  shall  at 
once  try  to  put  into  force.  Will  you  do  that?" 

Marjory  looked  half  frightened  for  a  moment;  then 
she  answered:  "Of  course  I  will,  Judge  Sawyer.'' 

"Do  not  answer  lightly,"  he  warned  her.  "Such  an 
attitude  will  take  more  courage  than  it  will  take  to 
tell  your  mother  your  present  plans.  It  will  take  more 
courage  even  than  the  facing  of  'society'  when  society 
has  found  out  the  true  status  of  your  husband.  Never- 
theless I  feel  you  are  capable  of  becoming  a  real  power 
for  good  in  this  line  of  work,  because  you  will  have 
suffered  directly  from  the  prison's  present  place  in  our 
social  order  if  it  be  found  that  your  husband  has  been 
its  victim."  Then  breaking  off,  he  said: 

"But  about  standing  by  me.  If  I  find  it  necessary 
to  try  to  arouse  public  opinion  to  demand  a  change 
in  our  prison  system,  I  shall  be  called  a  'reformer,' 
and  to  stand  by  a  reformer  means  opening  yourself  to 
all  sorts  of  criticisms !  Reformers,  like  poets,  are  never 
great  until  after  they  are  dead.  They  are  hated  and 
despised,  are  considered  cranks  and  dangerous  fanat- 
ics. If,  perchance,  a  reformer  is  placed  upon  a  pedes- 
tal by  an  optimistic  group  who  have  the  faculty  of 
seeing  a  little  farther  than  the  ordinary  man,  society 
makes  it  its  business  to  drag  that  reformer  down  by 
any  means  available,  it  matters  not  how  vile  and  false. 
World-old  forces  opposing  all  change  are  ever  at  work, 
and  those  instrumental  in  bringing  about  an  upheaval, 
which  always  results  from  the  attempt  to  do  away  with 


302    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

existing  abuses,  are  drawn  into  a  veritable  maelstrom 
of  lies  and  false  accusations.  Many  reformers  besides 
Christ  are  crucified  each  day!  Yet  notwithstanding 
all  this,  my  little  friend,  I  believe  that  women  can 
help  greatly  in  this  field.  As  I  once  heard  a  great 
surgeon  say,  'Women  are  the  preservers  of  the  race, 
men  the  consumers.'  I  believe  this  to  be  so.  Phys- 
ically and  mentally  a  woman  conserves  her  strength 
from  the  time  of  her  birth,  through  marriage,  mother- 
hood, and  old  age,  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  Men, 
on  the  other  hand,  are  necessarily  willing  and  ready  to 
sacrifice  human  life,  as  in  war,  industry,  and  so  forth. 
The  world  is  just  awakening  to  the  possible  good  effect 
of  this  wonderful  mother-instinct  in  women  when 
brought  to  bear  elsewhere  than  in  the  home.  I  want 
you,  therefore,  to  promise  to  help  me  henceforward." 

"I  promise,"  Marjory  hastened  to  say  solemnly. 
Then  her  whole  being  becoming  flooded  with  an  effu- 
sion of  inspiration  caught  from  this  man-with-a- vision, 
she  said: 

"We  will  work  for  you  together,  Denneth  and  I. 
In  spite  of  what  he  did,  Judge  Sawyer,  I  now  begin 
to  see  and  understand  his  real  worth.  When  can  we 
begin  our  search  for  him?  I  feel  time  is  very  pre- 
cious !" 

"To-morrow,"  Judge  Sawyer  said,  and  he  looked 
encouragement  deep  into  the  inspired  eyes  of  the 
woman  by  his  side. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"I'LL  take  the  job,"  Stanley  agreed.     "Thank  you." 

The  perspiring  proprietor  rubbed  his  greasy  hands 
together,  and  his  nose  and  chin  met  in  a  smile  as  he 
bowed  Stanley  from  his  cheap  eating  house  on  the 
lower  East  side.  "Alwride,"  he  said  with  a  pleasant 
nasal  resonance,  "do-morrow  borning  at  fife  you'll  be 
here.  Verstehen  Sie?" 

Stanley  nodded. 

"It's  bleasant  work.  Yust  vashing  dishes.  Twelf 
hours,  dree  and  von  haff  dollars  a  veek.  Lader,  bur- 
haps,  you  make  good  chef.  Verstehen  Sie?  Our 
vomen  vorkers  dey  like  men  chefs  around.  Verstehen 
Sie?"  and  again  his  lips  played  hide  and  seek  with  his 
nose  and  chin,  while  he  wickedly  winked  a  beady  eye. 

Again  Stanley  nodded.  "I'll  be  here,"  he  said.  And 
without  further  ado  he  left. 

So  this  was  to  be  the  beginning  of  his  life  as  an 
honest  man.  Three  dollars  and  a  half  a  week  at  dish 
washing  for  twelve  long  hours !  The  work  to  be  done 
in  a  cellar  almost  as  damp  and  dark  as  the  cells  of 
public  institutions,  which  had  been  the  only  home  he 
had  known.  It  was  anything  but  an  encouraging  pros- 
pect. His  keen  mind  harked  back  to  the  ease  and 
cleverness  with  which  he  had  gained  his  spurs  in  the 
underworld  as  "Subway  Slick,"  the  name  accorded  him 
because  of  his  adroitness  in  picking  worthwhile  pock- 
ets. His  income  then  averaged  more  nearly  three  dol- 
lars and  a  half  a  day,  while  his  hours — they  were 
exactly  what  he  chose  to  make  them.  It  was  years 
since  he  had  worked  as  the  tool  of  a  "fagin."  In 
his  brief  liberty  hitherto  he  had  been  his  own  boss. 
In  the  profession  of  picking  pockets  he  had  become 

303 


304     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

a  power  to  reckon  with!  Was  he  making  a  mistake 
now  in  giving  up  this  profession  for  which  he  had  been 
so  well  trained?  Was  his  determination  to  be  honest 
as  foolish  as  the  compensation  and  conditions  offered 
now  made  it  seem? 

A  picture  of  the  various  imprisoning  institutions  in 
which  he  had  lived  so  long  came  up  in  answer.  Once 
again  he  fancied  himself  going  through  the  physical 
tortures  accorded  him  there.  He  was  sick  of  the 
shadow  of  prisons!  If  he  were  honest,  perhaps  he 
could  escape  their  confines  forevermore.  Most  men 
did!  It  could  not  all  be  chance  or  good  luck!  Some 
people  really  must  be  honest,  he  argued,  though  he  had 
never  met  any  of  them!  Perhaps — and  his  sense  of 
inherited  hope  soared — perhaps  somehow  he  could 
manage  to  get  a  foothold  in  the  world,  and  grow  to 
be  a  power  in  some  honest  way!  That  there  was 
power  within  him  he  felt  absolutely  sure ! 

Taking  the  little  Lion  from  the  Home,  together  they 
would  try  to  wrest  an  honest  living  from  the  world. 
His  memory  went  back  to  that  night  many  years  ago, 
when  he  had  tried  to  put  this  plan  into  action. 
Through  the  Italian  fruit  vendor  they  had  failed.  But 
now  surely  they  would  not  5 

Hurrying  toward  the  river  Stanley  reached  and 
rang  the  bell  of  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep.  The 
watchman's  brutal  face  appeared  at  the  prison-like 
aperture,  and  Patrick,  old  and  bewhiskered  now,  asked 
gruffly : 

"Well,  what  are  ye  after  wanting?" 

"I'm  after  wanting  the  gate  open,"  Stanley  an- 
swered, recognizing  the  man  instantly,  but  seeing  that 
he  did  not  recognize  him. 

"And  fer  what?" 

"To  enter  through,"  Stanley  answered  sarcastically. 
Then  remembering  that  the  bully  was  not  allowed  to 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     305 

open  the  gate  unless  he  was  convinced  in  some  way 
of  the  applicant's  importance,  he  lied  glibly: 

"I've  just  returned  from  a  holy  pilgrimage  to  the 
sacred  shrine  of  Saint  Anne/'  and  he  crossed  himself. 
"I've  brought  back  many  a  blessed  token!  I  want  to 
see  the  matron  on  important  business." 

Patrick  looked  Stanley  up  and  down  keenly.  The 
ill-fitting  suit  which  the  state  had  so  generously  be- 
stowed upon  him  along  with  the  five  dollar  bill  at  the 
expiration  of  his  sentence,  in  full  payment  for  two 
years'  hard  labor,  was  almost  as  much  identification 
as  his  prison  stripes  had  been.  Patrick  hesitated  to 
open  the  gates,  and  Stanley  again  tried  a  cleverly 
conceived  lie : 

"It's  a  piece  of  the  blessed  Saint's  holy  raiment  I've 
brought,  thrice  blessed.  It  shall  be  yours,"  he  assured 
him  in  a  pious  and  persuasive  voice,  again  crossing 
himself.  Stanley  had  found  these  tokens,  self-invented, 
useful  in  his  career  of  cunning  crime,  and  so  now, 
though  he  had  really  determined  to  go  straight,  in 
order  to  gain  his  present  point  he  once  more  resorted 
to  hypocrisy  and  deception.  The  watchman  still  hesi- 
tated. Seeing  this,  Stanley  drew  a  small  metal  crucifix 
from  his  pocket.  Kissing  it,  he  reverently  crossed 
himself,  murmured  a  short  prayer,  and  handed  it  to 
the  other  saying: 

"This  was  blessed  by  the  Pope.  Take  it,  wear  it, 
and  may  the  Holy  Virgin  bless  you!" 

The  watchman's  hand  eagerly  grasped  the  coveted 
prize.  "And  may  the  holy  Saint  Anthony  be  after 
giving  ye  health,"  he  responded  fervently,  crossing 
himself,  kissing  the  crucifix,  then  swinging  wide  the 
gates. 

Stanley  passed  inside.  The  watchman's  thick  lips 
drew  back  from  his  fang-like  teeth. 


306     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"It's  after  finding  the  matron  inside  this  door  ye 
will.  To  the  left,"  he  said,  leading  the  way. 

Crossing  the  familiar  yard  they  entered  the  gloomy 
gray  building.  Stanley's  heart  rebelled  against  the 
sunless  place.  With  a  return  of  his  old-time  revolt, 
he  remembered  its  hypocritical  standards  and  many  in- 
justices, but  remembering  also  that  his  present  errand 
was  one  which  would  free  another  from  its  loveless 
confines,  he  tried  to  throw  this  feeling  off. 

Passing  beneath  a  large  religious  placque  done  in 
plaster  and  which  was  fast  crumbling  away,  he  en- 
tered the  Home's  dilapidated  office.  Taking  his  hat 
off  he  held  it  with  both  hands,  bowing  his  head  and 
keeping  his  eyes  cast  downward  in  silence.  His  atti- 
tude was  one  of  humble  respect.  Thus  he  approached 
the  female  figure  seated  at  the  desk. 

For  several  moments  the  matron  made  no  move, 
but  went  on  with  the  task  before  her. 

Finally  she  looked  up. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  crisply,  while  her 
eyes  took  in  his  loose-fitting  clothes. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  stepping  forward,  still  with  the 
display  of  humility  and  respect,  "I  have  come  to  ask 
a  favor." 

The  woman's  hard  face  grew  harder.  Doing  things 
for  others  was  no  part  of  her  daily  life,  and  she  now 
feared  she  was  to  be  asked  something  which  might 
perchance  cost  her  some  slight  trouble.  Besides  all 
this,  this  stranger  before  her  looked  like  a  suspicious 
character!  She  must  be  cautious. 

"I've  come  to  ask  if  I  may  have  a  hunchback  lad 
you  have  here  known  as  the  'Lion.'  I  want  to  take  him 
out  to  live  with  me." 

The  matron  stared  as  though  she  could  not  believe 
hers  ears.  Noting  this  expression  Stanley  hastened 
to  explain  the  request  as  best  he  could. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     307 

"You  see,"  he  said  uneasily,  feeling  awkward  and 
shy  in  this  new  and  honest  role  of  mediator,  "1  lived 
here  once,  too,"  looking  about  the  dingy  room,  "and 
—well,  he  and  I  liked  each  other.  I've  got  a  job  now 
and  I'd  like  to  take  him  out  and  care  for  him." 

The  woman's  lips  curled.  "Do  you  think  any  boy 
would  be  better  off  with  you  than  if  he  remained 
here?"  she  asked  in  a  voice  whose  irritation  was  not 
far  beneath  the  surface. 

Stanley's  cunning  was  at  once  aroused  by  her  tone, 
and  forgetting  his  awkwardness  he  said  with  his  old- 
time  assurance: 

"Oh,  madam,  I  know  you  and  the  attendants  here 
are  more  than  good  to  him,  but  you  see  I  haven't  any 
folks  and " 

"Well,  there's  no  boy  named  Lyon  here,"  she 
snapped,  yet  not  entirely  unpleased  with  Stanley's 
flattering  manner  of  respectful  address.  "What  was 
his  number?" 

"One  hundred  and  one,"  Stanley  answered,  "but 
nobody  called  him  by  number.  Even  the  good  nurses 
called  him  the  Lion.  Somehow  he  was  so  different 
from  the  rest  of  the  kids  that  he  didn't  seem  like  a 
numbered  child,"  not  realizing  the  irony  or  pathos  of 
his  words. 

"When  were  you  here?  What  is  your  name?"  the 
matron  asked. 

"I  was  here  over  ten  years  ago,"  he  said.  "My 
name  wouldn't  mean  anything  to  you.  I  was  never 
called  by  it.  Number  ninety-nine  was  my  number. 
But  you  weren't  here  then.  I  know  you  weren't ;  other- 
wise I  could  never  have  forgotten  you !" 

The  woman  looked  Stanley  up  and  down  coldly,  yet 
she  could  not  help  but  be  pleased  at  the  boldly  admir- 
ing glance  which  he  so  cleverly  combined  with  his 
respectful  attitude.  "Did  your  parents  remove  you?" 


308     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

she  asked.     "You  said  just  now  you  had  'no  folks.' ' 

For  a  fleeting  moment  Stanley  was  at  a  loss ;  but  his 
genius  for  plausible  lying  came  to  his  rescue  and  he 
said: 

"I  was  adopted.  A  gentleman  and  lady  by  the  name 
of  Jenkins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jeremiah  Jenkins  of  105 
Waterlily  Avenue,  Flatbush,  took  me  to  their  home. 
They  died  two  years  ago  and  left  me  a  small  amount. 
And  now,  dear  madam,  if  the  boy  I  am  looking  for  is 
not  here,  please  tell  me  where  I  can  find  him,  the  poor, 
little  hunchback !" 

At  these  words  the  matron's  eyes  again  hardened, 
and  her  manner  became  as  antagonistic  as  it  had  been 
before. 

"I  tell  you  I  do  not  know  where  the  boy  is!  It  is 
impossible  for  me  to  know  the  details  about  hundreds 
of  children  who  come  and  go  in  a  place  like  this. 
Have  you  any  claim  other  than  friendship  for  him?" 

For  a  moment  Stanley  remained  silent,  wondering 
if  another  lie  would  help  him.  Then  deciding  that 
her  question  might  lead  to  more  than  seemed  likely 
on  the  face  of  it,  his  caution  was  aroused  and  he 
dared  not  lie. 

"No,"  he  answered  briefly. 

The  matron  looked  relieved.  For  ten  years  she 
had  lived  in  ever  recurring  waves  of  dread  of  some 
one  who  might  prove  he  had  a  legal  right  to  do  so, 
coming  to  ask  about  the  little  half  wit.  Though  she 
had  allowed  Marjory  to  take  the  boy,  she  had  at  that 
time  taken  the  precaution,  agaiitst  possible  |future 
difficulty,  of  insisting  that  Marjory  comply  with  the 
formalities  of  the  law  and  legally  adopt  him,  even 
though  he  might  be  rightfully  hers.  But  her  own 
private  and  unexpressed  uncertainty  as  to  whether  the 
hunchback  really  was  Marjory's  child  had  never  left 
her  mind.  Had  the  authorities  known  of  her  conduct 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    309 

in  connection  with  her  disposition  of  many  of  the 
children,  they  might  not  have  continued  her  in  her 
present  position  one  moment.  Thus  she  often  feared 
detection,  and  lived  a  life  wherein  uneasy  and  sporadic 
endeavor  to  cover  up  her  many  delinquencies  formed 
no  small  part. 

"There  is  no  boy  by  that  name  or  number  here," 
she  said.  "Nor  do  I  know  the  whereabouts  of  any 
lad  with  such  a  deformity  as  you  describe.  That  is 
positive/'  and  picking  up  her  pen  with  a  finality  that 
told  Stanley  he  had  received  all  the  information  he 
was  going  to  get,  she  bent  her  head  over  her  work. 

Stanley  stood  silently  before  her.  It  had  not  en- 
tered his  mind  when  picturing  this  scene  in  anticipa- 
tion, that  he  would  have  any  difficulty  whatever  in 
securing  the  little  hunchback.  He  had  never  imagined 
the  Home  without  the  little  fellow.  He  had  heard  the 
nurses  say  so  many  times  that  they  ought  not  to  have 
been  burdened  with  the  Lion,  that  he  had  assumed 
that  when  he  asked  for  him  they  would  immediately 
accede  to  his  request.  So  now  he  felt  that  the  matron 
was  only  pretending  not  to  know  of  the  boy's  where- 
abouts. He  must  be  here  in  the  Home. 

"But  my  dear  madam,  you'll  soon  be  turning  him 
out  because  of  age  limit  anyhow.  For  God's  sake, 
let  me  have  him!"  Stanley  pleaded  with  a  depth  of 
honest  earnestness. 

The  woman  flushed.  Raising  her  hand  she  pointed 
toward  the  door.  "Go,"  she  said,  in  suppressed 
anger.  "Go,  before  I  have  you  put  out!"  Then 
unable  to  resist  at  least  a  small  show  of  her  resent- 
ment at  his  impertinent  disbelief  of  her  statement,  she 
added : 

"Don't  you  think  I  recognize  the  cut  of  your 
clothes,  ex-jailbird!  I'll  not  have  any  'fagins'  trying 
to  secure  apprentices  from  this  place!  If  you  don't  go 


310     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

immediately  I'll  call  the  police,"  and  summoning  the 
watchman,  who  had  all  this  time  been  hanging  around 
outside  the  door,  she  commanded : 

"Patrick,  see  that  this  fellow  leaves  the  premises 
at  once!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  the  watchman  answered,  bowing 
respectfully.  Then  to  Stanley: 

"It's  after  obeying  orders  I  am.  Come  on!"  and 
he  roughly  took  hold  of  Stanley's  shoulder.  "It  was 
knowing  the  same  of  ye  that  the  matron  does  I  was," 
he  said  boastfully.  "But  I  thought  I'd  be  after  giv- 
ing ye  enough  rope  to  hang  yourself,"  and  he  shoved 
Stanley  out  of  the  room. 

Stanley  was  furious,  but  true  to  the  perverted  nature 
which  had  been  bred  in  him  during  twenty-one  years 
shut  up  in  places  where  manliness  and  courage  were 
no  part  of  the  lessons  taught  him,  he  now  slinked  from 
the  matron's  sight,  showing  every  outward  sign  of 
humility,  yet  an  angry  vengeance  filled  him,  making 
him  determine  to  get  even  with  her  some  day  if  he 
possibly  could! 

As  he  passed  into  the  yard  his  eyes  took  in  the 
children  playing  there.  He  still  believed  that  the  little 
hunchback  was  among  them,  and  he  was  resolved  to 
free  him  from  the  Home.  This  desire  to  help  some 
one  less  fortunate  than  himself  was  the  only  way 
Stanley's  better  nature  had  ever  expressed  itself,  and 
he  subconsciously  knew  that  the  lad's  companionship 
was  necessary  to  keep  him  out  of  prison. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  obsequiously  to  Patrick  as  the 
latter  led  him  toward  the  gate.  "If  you'll  get  me  in 
communication  with  the  hunchback  lad,  I'll  give  you 
— well,  I've  got  all  sorts  of  other  holy  talismans.  I'll 
give  you  a  piece  of " 

But  he  got  no  further.  Patrick  was  too  conscious 
of  a  pair  of  eyes  watching  them  from  the  office  win- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    311 

dow.  Giving  Stanley  a  shove  forward,  he  said  loudly, 
so  that  it  might  be  heard: 

"Git  on  with  ye !  We're  not  after  wanting  the  likes 
of  you  within  these  walls!" 

Stanley  passed  through  the  gates,  and  they  clanged 
skut  behind  him. 

"I'll  not  go!"  he  exclaimed  to  himself.  "Lion  is 
there!  I'm  going  to  have  him — the  damned  hypo- 
crites !"  and  slinking  away  around  a  corner,  he  stopped 
just  out  of  reach  of  Patrick's  eyes,  but  where  he  could 
nevertheless  watch  the  children  at  their  play.  He  felt 
sure  the  little  half-wit  would  not  have  forgotten  him, 
and  would  do  as  he  told  him  if  he  could  but  gain  his 
attention. 

All  day  Stanley  hung  around  outside  the  Home, 
waiting  and  hoping;  but  without  avail.  Toward 
evening  a  brisk  young  policeman,  striding  eagerly  up 
behind  Stanley,  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Here,  you,"  he  said.  "I've  had  a  phone  call  about 
you!  Whatcher  hanging  around  here  for  anyhow?" 
showing  his  newly  won  badge  with  eclat.  "Don't  you 
know  I  can  run  you  in  as  a  suspicious  character?" 
taking  note  of  Stanley's  ill-fitting  clothes.  "Or  a 
vagrant?  Move  on!" 

Without  a  word  Stanley  moved  off  slowly  down  the 
street.  The  policeman  followed.  "Better  not  be  seen 
around  these  parts  again!"  he  warned  him.  "You've 
been  reported  once.  Hanging  around  this  beat  is  a 
dangerous  job,  believe  me!"  and  he  threw  out  his 
chest  proudly.  "Where  do  you  work,  anyhow  ?" 

The  officer  was  hardly  older  than  Stanley.  But  the 
latter,  cowed  and  afraid  of  his  authority,  obediently 
mumbled  the  address  of  the  cheap  eating  house  where 
he  was  to  go  to  work  on  the  morrow. 

The  officer  made  a  mental  note  of  the  address,  and 


312     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

without  another  word  Stanley  left  him  and  hurried 
away. 

Stepping  to  a  near-by  telephone  the  officer  called 
up  the  police  station  from  which  he  received  orders. 

"Hello,  is  that  you,  Sergeant?"  he  asked.  "This  is 
Murphy,  beat  thirteen-: ,"  in  a  voice  full  of  im- 
portance. "Say,  I  just  seen  a  suspicious  looking  guy 
up  here.  He  started  down  your  way.  Says  he  works 
at  Dinglespitz's  Emporium  on  Knickerbocker  Street, 
but  his  doll  rags  look  like  State's  Prison  to  me !  Stand- 
under?  Better  put  somebody  on  the  job,  quick.  So 
long,"  and  hanging  up  the  receiver  he  went  back  upon 
his  beat. 

Since  Mr.  Murphy  had  won  his  new  and  shining 
badge  there  had  been  few  excuses  for  his  profes- 
sional existence;  and  so,  like  others  in  his  profession, 
he  felt  that  he  must  make  all  the  reports  possible,  even 
though  he  was  not  lucky  enough  to  make  any  actual 
arrests.  He  fervently  hoped  this  report  he  had  just 
turned  in  would  lead  somewhere.  Promotion  was  very 
essential,  and  promotion  could  not  be  gained  unless  he 
had  proved  to  the  city  the  value  of  his  services!  He 
wanted  an  increase  in  pay  and  a  steady  job!  A  merry 
face  wherein  laughed  a  pair  of  Irish  blue  eyes  came 
to  him  at  this  thought.  He  and  Katie  must  have 
that  tiny  flat  they  had  looked  at  together!  She,  dear 
girl,  hated  working  out ! 

In  the  meantime  the  police  sergeant  detailed  one 
of  his  most  ambitious  stool-pigeons  to  watch  Dingle- 
spitz's. 

The  next  morning  as  Stanley  entered  the  garlic 
atmosphere  of  this  new  Jerusalem,  this  shifty-eyed 
individual  entered  after  him,  taking  note  of  Stanley's 
peculiarities  in  looks  and  manner,  and  quickly  placed 
him  as  a  man  he  had  known  in  prison.  Later  a  blue- 
coated  officer  came  and  drew  the  proprietor  aside. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    313 

At  the  end  of  the  day,  after  the  skin  upon  Stanley's 
hands  had  become  crinkled  and  sore  from  the  hot 
water  and  lye  soapsuds  in  which  they  had  been  doing 
battle  with  grease  and  refuse  all  day,  Mr.  Isaac 
Dinglespitz  descended  upon  him  from  the  Olympian 
heights  of  the  billiard  parlor  floor  located  above  the 
grand  dining  room. 

"Young  ban,"  he  said,  his  assiduously  pleasant 
voice  sounding  out  from  the  valley  between  the  moun- 
tain of  nose  and  chin,  "I  vill  haff  to  ask  you  to  leaf 
already  yet.  Here  iss  your  vages." 

Stanley  stared  as  he  took  the  proffered  coins. 
"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "Didn't  I  do  the 
work  satisfactorily?" 

Mr.  Isaac  Dinglespitz's  hands  went  up  and  out.  His 
shoulders  were  raised  in  a  shrug.  "The  boliceman 
vass  here,"  he  said.  "He  dolt  me  vrom  vhere  you  vass 
already!  Verstehen  Sie?" 

Stanley  bit  his  lips.  "But  I'm  going  straight  now," 
he  said.  "Honest  I  am.  And  I  can  do  good  work, 
too.  Just  try  me!" 

Again  Mr.  Dinglespitz's  hands,  palms  turned  out- 
ward, waved  upward  in  the  air  and  his  shoulders 
shrugged. 

"I'm  sorry.  Bud  my  pizness  bust  be  high  class  run ! 
Verstehen  Sie?"  and  he  pointed  toward  the  door, 
still  smiling  pleasantly. 

Putting  on  his  hat  and  coat  without  a  word,  Stan- 
ley went  forth  into  the  late  afternoon.  He  felt  des- 
perately discouraged;  but  at  the  feel  of  the  fresh  air 
upon  his  face  his  new-born  sense  of  hope  and  ambition 
returned.  He  thought  of  the  little  hunchback,  im- 
prisoned as  he  believed  in  the  Home  of  His  Lost 
Sheep,  and  his  old  determination  to  free  him  again 
possessed  his  mind. 

Leaving  Dinglespitz's  Dining  Emporium  he  hast- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ened  uptown,  and  went  eastward  toward  the  river. 
He  would  once  again  try  to  bribe  Patrick  into  telling 
him  something  about  the  little  half-wit. 

Nearing  the  gate  of  the  Home  Stanley  saw  this 
yellow-fanged  watchdog  of  helpless  children  standing 
upon  the  sidewalk,  looking  up  and  down  the  street. 
But  he  did  not  see  the  stoop-shouldered  and  shifty- 
eyed  individual  who  had  skulked  along  behind  him, 
and  who  now  waited  just  around  the  corner! 

Patrick  leered  in  friendly  greeting  as  he  caught 
sight  of  Stanley's  slender  figure ;  while  Stanley  walked 
up  to  him  with  all  the  righteous  airs  of  the  holy  pil- 
grim which  he  had  pretended  to  be  the  afternoon 
before. 

"I  have  a  priceless  vial  of  the  oil  of  Saint  Anne, 
thrice  blessed,"  and  crossing  himself,  he  drew  a  sealed 
package  from  his  pocket.  "It  was  blessed  at  the  orig- 
inal Saint  Anne's  in  France.  It  was  blessed  again  at 
Saint  Anne  de  Beau-pre  in  Canada,  and  from  thence 
came  to  our  Right  Reverend  Cardinal.  As  by  a  holy 
miracle,  it  removes  all  sorrow  and  pain  from  our 
unholy  bodies.  If  you  will  tell  me  how  I  can  manage 
to  see  the  hunchback,  it  is  yours." 

Patrick  looked  slowly  around  about  him  to  see  if 
anyone  was  looking.  Then  stooping  forward  he 
whispered : 

"He  was  after  being  took  by  a  pretty  lady  ten 
•years  ago.  It  was  his  mother  she  said  she  was.  Here's 
the  name  and  address  she  give  when  she  was  after 
taking  him,"  handing  Stanley  a  slip  of  paper  upon 
which  a  few  words  were  crudely  scrawled.  "It  was 
thinking  I  was  ye  might  come  back,"  and  he  winked. 
"I  stole  this  here  record  for  ye,"  and  he  took  the  token 
Stanley  handed  him. 

Then  quickly  straightening  up  he  said  aloud,  hoping 
that  he  might  be  heard:  "Now  git  along  with  ye. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    315 

There  ain't  after  being  room  around  here  for  sich  as 
ye!"  and  re-entering  the  gate  he  slammed  it,  tramped 
across  the  yard,  and  disappeared  inside  the  Home's 
dark  doorway. 

Stanley  stood  gazing  down  at  the  paper  in  his 
hands,  his  heart  sinking  at  the  information  which  he 
had  just  heard.  Of  course  if  the  Lion's  mother  had 
claimed  him,  it  was  the  best  thing  in  the  world  that 
could  have  happened  to  the  little  fellow,  but  it  made 
Stanley  feel  dreadfully  lonely!  The  little  hunchback 
was  the  only  friend  he  had  ever  had,  and  now  that  he 
had  decided  to  try  living  a  life  of  honesty,  he  longed 
with  all  his  heart  to  share  this  life  with  someone.  Per- 
haps he  could  go  to  the  Lion's  mother,  and  telling  her 
all  about  his  former  life,  ask  her  to  help  him  go 
straight. 

This  idea  he  dismissed  at  once.  He  could  not  go 
to  such  as  she!  What  woman  could  understand  such 
things  except  perhaps  those  painted — and  tainted — 
butterflies  of  the  underworld  who  were  derelicts  like 
himself!  His  courage  failed  him  at  the  very  thought 
of  speech  with  a  woman  from  the  class  who  knows 
little  and  generally  cares  less  about  the  sins  and  sor- 
rows of  the  world  in  which  he  lived. 

"Here  you,"  a  brisk  voice  said  as  a  heavy  hand 
grasped  his  arm,  "what  did  I  tell  you  yesterday?  You 
move  on,  you  hear!  Or  I'll  know  why!  There's  been 
another  phone  call  about  you  just  now.  You'd  better 
do  as  I  tell  you,  or  them  new  clothes  won't  be  worn 
long!" 

Grinding  his  teeth  together  at  this  new  proof  of 
Patrick's  underhandedness,  as  he  thought,  Stanley 
walked  rapidly  out  of  sight.  Not,  however,  before  the 
blue-coated  guardian  of  public  morals  had  met  and 
given  orders  to  his  assistant,  the  stool-pigeon. 

This  possible  prospective  boss  of  some  down  town 


316     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ward,  who  had  succeeded  in  securing  his  own  safety 
by  selling  the  safety  of  everyone  else  he  could,  now 
eagerly  tracked  Stanley  to  his  cheap  lodging  house. 
Here,  discouraged  and  sick  at  heart,  Stanley  had  en- 
tered his  dirty  room  and  thrown  himself  upon  the 
bed. 

Not  many  minutes  later  the  blue  coat  appeared  at  the 
front  door  of  the  lodging  house.  Soon  after  this 
Stanley  heard  the  slovenly  steps  of  the  lady  of  the 
house  come  slopping  up  the  rickety  stairs.  A  knock 
sounded  upon  his  door.  He  opened  it. 

"This  room's  took,"  she  said  in  an  indifferent  drawl, 
lazily  chewing  gum  as  she  spoke  and  balancing  an 
emaciated  whining  baby  upon  one  hip.  "You'll  have 
to  git  out." 

So  the  persecution,  of  which  he  had  been  told  in 
prison  by  men  who  had  tried  to  go  straight  and  failed 
through  the  hounding  of  the  law  and  its  parasitic 
Judases,  had  begun  for  him !  He  understood  the  situ- 
ation just  as  well  as  if  he  had  seen  and  heard  the 
officer  and  his  accomplice  who  had  followed  him. 

Stanley  gathered  together  his  few  belongings  and 
left  the  shabby  lodging  house.  Night  had  descended. 
The  wind  had  swung  into  the  east  and  a  cold  drizzle 
filled  the  air  with  a  damp  biting  chill.  Beneath  the  arc 
lamp  at  the  street  corner  he  could  see  two  officers 
and  a  third  man  apparently  in  idle  conversation;  but 
as  he  swung  off  up  the  street  he  noticed  from  the  tail 
of  his  eye  that  two  of  the  group  had  turned  to  follow 
him. 

On  he  went.  The  drizzle  soon  turned  into  a  cutting 
sleet  that  lashed  his  face  cruelly.  Bowing  his  head  he 
tramped  through  the  deserted  streets  and  entered  the 
park.  Seeking  the  shelter  of  a  bench  beneath  a  low- 
hanging  evergreen  tree  he  sat  down  to  think.  What 
should  he  do?  No  work — no  place  to  lay  his  head, 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    317 

and — a  little  over  three  dollars  in  his  pocket.  He  tried 
to  formulate  some  plan.  There  must  surely  be  plenty 
of  work  for  willing  and  honest  hands  if  only  he  could 
find  it.  True,  he  had  little  education  in  the  accepted 
sense  of  the  word — the  State  had  seen  to  that!  But 
he  knew  how  to  do  many  practical  things  which  those 
proficient  in  conventional  book  learning  did  not  know. 

But  the  day  spent  in  the  close  underground  kitchen 
of  Dinglespitz's  Dining  Emporium  had  exhausted 
him.  Without  realizing  it,  his  eyes  now  slowly  closed 
and  sleep  overtook  him.  He  had  not  sat  long  in  this 
position,  shielded  as  he  was  from  wind  and  sleet  by 
the  low  hanging  boughs,  before  a  stealthy  figure  stole 
noiselessly  up  to  him.  Stopping,  the  shifty  eyed  fellow 
looked  him  over,  then  stole  back  to  the  officer. 

"Yep,  it's  him,"  he  said,  "just  outer  the  Pen.  Been 
in  eighteen  months.  Before  that,  the  Reformatory. 
Before  that,  State  Reform  School.  Before  that,  brat 
in  the  Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep.  I  knowed  him  there. 
We's  graduated,  so  to  speak,  from  most  of  them 
places  together,"  and  the  stool-pigeon  chuckled  now 
at  the  safety  he  felt  for  himself.  "His  name  is  Stan- 
ley, alias  Subway  Slick  and  a  few  dozen  others,"  twist- 
ing his  weak  lips  in  a  smile.  "Believe  me,  partner, 
I  cf reserves  my  freedom  if  I  takes  on  the  job  of  watch- 
ing him!  He's  some  incorrigible!" 

The  officer  marched  up  and  shook  Stanley  roughly. 
"Here,  young  fellow,"  he  said  brusquely,  "I'll  have  to 
run  you  in  if  you  don't  move  on.  It's  against  the  law 
to  sleep  in  the  park.  Git !"  and  he  gave  Stanley  a  pain- 
ful crack  across  the  shoulders  with  his  stick. 

Opening  his  eyes  Stanley  saw  the  officer  bending 
above  him,  and  recalled  the  words  he  had  only  half 
heard  in  his  drowsiness. 

"I  had  a  place  to  sleep,"  he  muttered  sullenly,  "and 
you  got  me  turned  out!" 


318     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

"Not  me,  Sonny,"  the  officer  replied.  "I  ain't  on 
that  beat -" 

"Well,  the  fellow  you  were  talking  to  got  me 
turned  out,  then.  Don't  you  think  I'm  on  to  your 
game  ?" 

The  officer  smiled  grimly !  "Mrs.  Grubbs  has  police 
protection  because  she  pays  for  it.  See?"  and  he  tapped 
Stanley's  pockets  meaningly  with  his  stick.  Had  he 
not  known  positively  from  the  snitch  in  his  employ 
that  Stanley  had  no  standing  in  the  community,  he 
would  not  have  dared  speak  so  openly  of  the  bribery 
and  graft  system.  An  ex-convict's  word  is  never  taken 
against  that  of  an  officer,  and  so  the  present  speaker 
considered  Stanley  perfectly  harmless. 

"Mum's  the  word  with  me,  and  them,"  jerking  his 
thumb  back  from  whence  they  had  come  to  indicate 
the  other  officer  and  the  stool-pigeon.  "Yep,  Sonny,  if 
the  dough  talks  loud  enough  /  can't  be  heard !  See  ?" 
and  he  laughed  at  his  own  witticism.  Then  returning 
to  his  attack  he  continued : 

"But  it's  on  the  move  you'd  better  be.  We've  all 
spotted  you  and  are  on  the  job!" 

What  was  the  use,  Stanley  thought.  Evidently  the 
idea  was  not  to  allow  him  to  stay  out  of  prison,  but 
was  rather  to  see  to  it  that  he  got  back  again,  whether 
he  had  committed  any  offense  or  not.  If  this  was  so 
as  he  began  to  more  than  suspect,  then  what  was  the 
use  or  sense  in  his  trying  to  go  straight  ?  Yet  his  ear- 
nest wish  and  purpose  was  to  stay  out  of  prison.  He 
was  so  sick  of  the  shadow  of  prisons ! 

Obedient  to  the  officer's  commands  he  had  gotten 
up  from  the  bench,  and  was  now  walking  aimlessly 
away  from  the  park  and  on  through  the  storm.  It 
was  dark  and  lonely,  and  the  whole  world  seemed 
irrevocably  wrong. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    319 

As  he  stumbled  along  through  the  wet  he  did  not 
know  where  he  went,  and  he  did  not  care!  Close  on 
his  heels  the  stool-pigeon  skulked.  Occasionally  Stan- 
ley would  stop  to  rest,  leaning  against  a  lamp  post  or  a 
convenient  house  rail ;  but  no  sooner  would  he  assume 
either  of  these  postures  than  he  would  feel  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  Looking  up  he  would  face  an  officer, 
apparently  sprung  from  nowhere,  who  commanded 
him  to  move  on.  Finally  day  was  on  its  way,  and 
having  wandered  thus  from  the  far  east  through  the 
middle  of  New  York,  Stanley  had  now  turned  across 
town  and  reached  that  part  of  the  city  known  as  Hell's 
Kitchen  and  the  Gas  House  District.  Once  again  he 
was  wending  his  way  through  squalor  and  filth,  pov- 
erty and  dire  distress,  when  he  spied  afar  off,  down 
near  a  wharf  of  the  Hudson  River,  a  brightly  lighted 
door,  wide  open.  An  uproarious  group  of  half  drunken 
Portuguese  sailors  danced  madly  about.  Stanley 
quickened  his  steps  and  reaching  the  place  marched 
straight  in  upon  them.  He  had  sworn  to  leave  liquor 
alone,  knowing  that  it  was  an  enemy  too  dangerous 
to  cultivate ;  but  now  wet  and  cold  he  did  not  care. 

As  he  entered,  the  unexpectedly  overworked  pro- 
prietor hailed  him. 

"Say,  Sonny,"  he  exclaimed  in  friendly  English,  his 
voice  reaching  Stanley  above  the  excited  jabber  of  the 
foreigners,  "if  you'll  come  around  and  help,  I'll  divvy 
profits.  Lord,  these  Guineas  dropped  down  on  me  like 
hail.  But  they're  made  of  gold!"  and  he  motioned 
Stanley  behind  the  bar. 

With  a  glad  heart  Stanley  did  as  he  was  bid.  The 
spendthrift  party  lasted  undisturbed  through  the  night, 
for  the  little  water-front  saloon  had  police  protection, 
too.  Stanley  worked  willingly  and  well,  and  so  it  was 
that  when  the  morning  came,  tired  but  triumphant, 
Stanley  discovered  that  he  once  more  had  the  offer  of 


320    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

a  job  at  the  huge  retainer  that  Mr.  Dinglespitz  had 
offered  him. 

With  genuine  thankfulness  he  accepted  the  pro- 
prietor's offer.  From  this  he  could  doubtless  work 
up.  A  feeling  of  security,  almost  happiness,  was  his 
as  he  settled  himself  to  sleep  for  the  day  in  the  small 
bedroom  above  the  saloon.  During  the  night  he  had 
not  noticed  a  shifty  eyed  customer  who  had  saun- 
tered in  for  a  drink!  It  was  not  until  after  he  re- 
ported for  duty  the  next  morning,  therefore,  that  he 
discovered  that  an  officer  had  called.  It  was  not  many 
minutes  after  the  proprietor  had  made  this  fact  plain 
to  him  that  he  again  found  himself  turned  upon  the 
street. 

Day  after  day  and  night  after  night  he  went  from 
one  job  to  another,  only  to  be  ousted  by  a  timely 
word  of  warning  from  one  or  more  of  his  eager 
guardians,  the  fraternity  in  blue,  or  their  tool,  the 
stool-pigeon.  Thus  several  weeks  passed,  and  then 
becoming  utterly  disheartened  at  his  bad  luck  in  New 
York,  like  others  in  his  position,  he  thought  to  find 
things  better  in  another  city. 

Working  his  way  out  to  a  suburban  railroad  yard 
in  spite  of  the  stool-pigeon's  vigilance,  Stanley  man- 
aged to  secrete  himself  in  a  loaded  freight  car  bound 
for  Hampton.  After  running  many  risks,  chief  among 
them  being  the  repeated  leaving  and  regaining  of  the 
car  shelter  in  order  to  beg  food  and  water  from  some 
nearby  farmer's  wife  en  route,  he  arrived  in  that  city. 
Not  many  days  had  passed  before  the  influential  stool- 
pigeon,  in  collaboration  with  the  owners  of  his  soul, 
the  officers  in  New  York,  discovered  his  whereabouts 
in  Hampton.  Through  local  fraternities  and  their  dark 
and  devious  ways  the  same  old  houndings  were  soon 
in  progress. 

To  add  to  his  troubles,  old  Deacon  Dennison  again 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    321 

crossed  Stanley's  path.  This  pious  saver  of  souls  was 
still  busily  going  about  into  byways  and  alleys  preach- 
ing his  fire  and  brimstone  doctrine  of  Hell  and  Dam- 
nation. He  seldom  failed  to  recognize  any  of  those 
who  had  ever  been  numbered  among  the  lambs  of  his 
fold.  Meeting  Stanley  one  day  while  he  was  on  one 
of  his  emotional  bats,  so  to  speak,  this  old  gentleman 
began  trying  to  reconvert  him,  instituting  a  religious 
hounding  through  which  more  people  than  ever  learned 
of  his  past.  Using  their  influence  they  managed  to 
injure  still  further  his  chances  of  getting  desirable 
work. 

Traveling  the  road  to  honesty  now  began  to  seem 
not  only  absolutely  un-worthwhile,  but  impossible  for 
him.  Yet  for  some  reason  or  other,  Stanley  himself 
could  hardly  explain  why,  he  kept  on  trying  to  travel 
that  road.  He  was  so  sick  of  the  shadow  of  prisons! 
He  longed  with  his  whole  being  to  succeed  in  keeping 
away  from  them.  It  was  just  at  this  stage  of  his  life, 
a  time  when  the  right  sort  of  influence  might  well 
have  turned  his  despairing  stubbornness  into  a  force 
which  would  have  worked  out  his  salvation,  that  cir- 
cumstances entirely  unforeseen  took  over  the  shaping 
of  his  future. 

Wet  and  hungry  one  stormy  night  just  after  having 
lost  another  job  because  of  a  local  stool-pigeon's  dirty 
work,  Stanley  drifted  into  a  saloon.  More  and  more 
this  spot  of  artificial  cheer,  the  one  place  in  which  he 
was  apt  to  be  left  unmolested,  had  appealed  to  him. 
The  meals,  so  freely  given  away  with  the  purchase  of  a 
glass  of  beer  or  so,  were  fairly  palatable,  and  were, 
on  the  whole,  a  great  saving  to  his  meager  purse. 

This  particular  evening,  seated  quietly  and  quite 
alone  at  one  of  the  tables,  Stanley's  attention  was 
attracted  to  a  man  who,  leaving  his  place  at  another 
table,  had  come  reeling  over  toward  him.  Reaching 


322    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Stanley's  table,  he  leaned  his  heavy  hands  upon  it,  and 
bending  over  began  to  abuse  him  in  fluent  well  articu- 
lated French,  intermingled  with  English. 

Stanley  recognized  the  man  as  one  he  had  often 
seen  in  the  place,  a  fiery  fellow  who  was  apt  to  get 
too  much  to  drink  early  in  the  evening. 

"Damn  coquin !  Je  sais  d'ou  vous  etes L'ami 

de  ze  policewaw  m'a  racconte.  Damn  thief!" 

At  these  words  Stanley's  mind  recalled  that  he  had 
that  day  noticed  the  Frenchman  talking  to  a  police- 
man upon  the  beat.  So  even  here,  in  this  little  out-of- 
the-way  saloon,  his  past  was  now  known!  Doubtless 
the  usual  hounding  would  soon  commence ! 

On  one  or  more  occasions,  having  imbibed  rather 
freely  himself,  Stanley  became  garrulous  enough  to 
remonstrate  with  the  Frenchman.  He  had  informed 
him  that  he  was  a  fool  to  get  drunk  every  night;  but 
these  were  the  only  words  which  had  ever  passed 
between  them;  so  now  Stanley's  surprise  was  genuine 
when  the  fellow  attacked  him  so  virulently. 

Standing  up,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  other's 
shoulder.  Stanley  was  not  a  man  with  any  particular 
force  of  will,  nor  with  much  physical  bravery.  He 
had  never  seen  or  been  taught  either,  and  his  heritage 
from  his  grandfather  was  stronger  in  him  than  was 
that  of  his  father.  He  had  suffered  so  many  insults 
all  his  life  that  insults  meant  little  or  nothing  to  him. 
He  laughed  in  the  Frenchman's  face,  and  tried  to 
soothe  his  excitement. 

The  Frenchman  continued  his  abuse  at  this  sign 
of  what  he  thought  was  Stanley's  cowardice,  and  his 
words  grew  more  vile  every  moment. 

"Oh,  go  on  back  to  your  seat,"  Stanley  said  in 
an  almost  indifferent  tone.  "I  told  you  last  night 
whiskey  was  making  a  damn  fool  of  you,"  gnd  rather 
dizzy  himself  from  an  unwonted  consumption  of  beer, 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    323 

he  was  about  to  sit  down  again  when  the  French- 
man's fist  shot  out  in  his  direction. 

"Voila,  damn  thief!"  he  screamed  drunkenly,  strik- 
ing Stanley  full  in  the  face. 

Stanley  staggered  from  the  severity  of  the  blow  and 
for  a  moment  stood  dazed.  Then  a  madness,  unusual 
for  him,  ran  like  fire  through  his  veins.  Picking  up 
his  empty  beer  bottle  he  fired  it  at  the  Frenchman's 
head.  In  his  anger  his  cunning  mind  did  not  forget 
the  position  of  the  saloon  door  leading  to  the  street. 

With  a  crash  and  sound  of  splintering  glass  the 
bottle  broke  into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  the  French- 
man, cut  and  bleeding,  dropped  limply  to  the  floor. 

Making  a  desperate  dash  for  the  door,  Stanley  ran 
swiftly  through  it  and  gained  the  street. 

This  scene  between  the  two  was  a  signal  for  bedlam 
to  break  loose  in  the  liquor  crazed  mob.  Oaths  and 
curses  intermingled  with  the  sounds  of  breaking  bot- 
tles and  the  overturning  of  tables !  The  whole  lot  of 
drunken  men  grappled  each  other! 

Stanley  ran  on.  Dimly  at  first  he  heard  voices 
behind  him.  He  redoubled  his  pace.  The  voices  grew 
in  volume.  Through  the  cloudiness  in  his  brain  which 
the  beer  had  wrought  he  now  heard  a  shot  whiz  by 
him!  Then  another — and  another!  Evidently  a  po- 
liceman had  joined  the  chase. 

Ducking  his  head  he  ran  around  a  building,  and 
coming  out  on  an  alley-way,  doubled  on  his  own 
tracks.  The  mob  was  now  in  front  of  him,  running 
swiftly  forward;  but  he  dared  not  stop  running  or 
even  pause  for  breath!  If  he  ran  with  the  mob  he 
would  be  thought  one  of  those  chasing — himself.  The 
humor  of  the  situation  appealed  to  his  crafty  brain, 
and  on  he  went  just  back  of  his  pursuers  for  several 
yards  more.  He  knew,  however,  it  would  be  only  a 


324     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

matter  of  a  few  seconds  at  most  before  the  mob, 
reaching  the  alley,  would  realize  what  he  had  done ! 

Stanley  dropped  behind.  It  was  a  desperate  chance, 
but  he  must  take  it!  Bounding  up  a  couple  of  low 
stone  steps  he  secreted  himself  in  a  dark  doorway, 
hoping  thus  to  escape  his  pursuers  when  they  should 
have  turned.  He  had  barely  done  so  when  an  officer, 
late  in  joining  the  chase,  caught  the  outline  of  his 
figure.  With  the  agility  of  an  Indian  he  was  upon 
Stanley;  but  Stanley  was  ready  for  him.  Grappling, 
they  both  lost  their  balance,  and  rolled  down  the  steps, 
landing  upon  the  sidewalk.  This  gave  Stanley  the 
advantage,  for  he  found  himself  on  top;  so  he  began 
beating  his  opponent  with  all  the  strength  he  could 
muster. 

"Hold  still  there,"  the  officer  bellowed,  not  in  the 
least  winded  by  Stanley's  attack,  "or  I'll  shoot!" 

He  managed  to  free  the  arm  which  held  the  pistol 
and  was  just  about  to  discharge  it  full  into  his  captor 
when,  with  a  sudden  dexterous  twist  of  his  body, 
Stanley  succeeded!  in  striking  the  pistol  from  his 
cramped  grasp.  Crash !  It  fell  upon  the  sidewalk,  dis- 
charging and  sending  a  bullet  into  the  policeman's 
side. 

His  gap  upon  Stanley  relaxed,  and  before  the  crowd 
managed  to  rush  through  the  alley  Stanley  had  picked 
himself  up  and  made  off  again  at  top  speed.  He  was 
out  of  sight  when  the  mob  rounded  the  corner  and 
halted  on  finding  the  officer  lying  on  the  sidewalk. 
Some  one  called  an  ambulance,  which  presently  came 
clanging  up;  but  in  the  interest  of  discovering  the 
wounded  policeman  it  was  several  moments  before 
any  of  the  mob  remembered  Stanley's  part  in  the 
excitement,  and  again  took  up  the  chase. 

The  time  lost  had  given  the  fleet-footed  boy  the 
advantage  which  he  needed.  Running  in  and  out  of 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     325 

byways  and  alleys  which  crossed  and  countercrossed 
the  serpentine  streets,  cowpaths  in  the  original  village 
of  Hampton,  he  caught  sight  of  an  open  coal  hole  just 
ahead  of  him.  Seeing  in  this  a  safe  means  of  success- 
fully eluding  his  pursuers,  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation he  jumped  into  it. 

Down  he  went  into  total  blackness!  For  a  moment 
he  seemed  to  feel  the  deepest  floor  of  Hades  raise 
itself  up  to  meet  him!  A  sharp  pain  tore  its  way 
through  his  head.  A  violent  sickness  overcame  him. 
He  lay  huddled  and  still. 


CHAPTER  XX 

STANLEY  opened  his  eyes  to  see  a  sweet  face  floating 
hazily  above  him.  The  face  was  surmounted  by  a 
dainty  wisp  of  an  organdie  cap,  and  beneath  the  face 
an  expanse  of  starchy  white  linen  dress  met  his  puzzled 
gaze.  He  raised  his  hand  and  pushed  back  the  edge 
of  a  bandage  which  half  cut  off  his  vision. 

The  face  smiled  at  him.  "Want  anything?"  it  said 
in  the  most  commonplace  tone. 

Stanley  stared  blankly.  Then  struggling  to  free  his 
mind  of  the  queer  cloud  of  vagueness  which  held  it 
enthralled,  he  tried  to  speak.  Much  to  his  surprise  his 
voice  came  forth  in  a  queer  whispered  croak,  and  the 
sweet  face  had  to  bend  very  close  to  catch  the  words. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  your  nurse,"  the  girl  answered,  putting  her 
cool  hand  upon  his  wrist.  "Are  you  fairly  comfy?" 

Stanley  tried  to  move  his  head  in  order  to  see 
her  more  clearly,  but  something  very  stiff  bound  his 
forehead  hard  and  fast,  and  he  could  only  move 
his  eyes.  What  did  it  all  mean?  Again  putting  his 
hand  up  he  felt  the  swathing  bandages.  He  was  more 
puzzled  than  ever. 

The  nurse  soothingly  patted  his  hand  which  lay, 
thin  and  white,  upon  the  bedclothes.  "There,  try  not 
to  move,"  she  said,  seeing  the  pain  in  his  eyes.  "You'll 
feel  better  soon." 

Could  he  be  dead,  he  wondered.  Perhaps  his  spirit 
had  gone  into  this  other  man's  body  of  which  he  was 
so  vaguely  and  yet  so  acutely  conscious,  this  body 
with  his  own  head  fastened  fantastically  upon  it.  But 
if  this  was  his  head,  why  did  he  have  an  almost  uncon- 
trollable desire  to  say  foolish  things?  When  he  had 

326 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    327 

asked  the  nurse  who  she  was,  it  had  been  almost  impos- 
sible for  him  to  refrain  from  uttering  the  most  wild 
and  foolish  words  which  had  no  meaning  whatsoever. 

"Miss miss ,"  he  said,  trying  to  recall  her 

name. 

"Coudaire,"  she  prompted  him  kindly,  bending 
nearer  him  and  smoothing  out  his  pillow. 

"Will  you  close  down  the  barber  shop?"  glancing 
toward  the  open  window  near  his  bed. 

Miss  Coudaire,  familiar  as  she  was  with  the  seem- 
ingly senseless  words  of  an  aphasia  patient,  did  as 
she  was  bidden. 

Annoyed  at  the  fact  of  not  being  able  to  remember 
the  word  he  wished  to  use,  Stanley  turned  restlessly 
and  asked :  "Who — who  am  I  ?" 

"Why,  that's  exactly  what  none  of  us  knows,"  Miss 
Coudaire  said,  again  smiling.  "We  have  thought  per- 
haps that  your  steady  improvement  lately  would  have 
enabled  you  to  remember.  But  there,  don't  excite 
yourself,"  as  she  saw  him  again  try  to  move  his  head. 
Doubtless  everything  will  come  back  to  you  soon. 
You'd  better  try  to  sleep  now,"  and  tucking  the  immac- 
ulate covers  about  him,  she  glided  away  from  his 
bedside. 

He  lay  inertly,  watching  her  trim  figure  as  it  walked 
away  down  a  long  lane  of  evenly  distributed  white 
mounds.  What  were  those  mounds,  anyway  ? 

A  man's  head  was  stuck  out  of  the  one  nearest 
Stanley,  and  a  hirsute  face  smiled  over  at  him.  It 
was  a  white,  sick  face;  but  what  struck  Stanley  more 
forcefully  than  anything  else  was  the  fact  that  it  was 
a  friendly  face.  He  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  in- 
spiring such  smiles  as  this  man — and  the  nurse — had 
bestowed  upon  him.  What  in  the  world  did  it  mean? 

Dizzy  weakness  overcoming  him,  however,  he  closed 
his  eyes  wearily.  For  hours  he  lay  thus,  occasionally 


328    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

raising  his  lids  and  looking  about  him  at  the  big  un- 
familiar room.  The  grinding,  gnawing  pain  in  his 
head  was  never  absent,  and  his  mind  seemed  unable 
to  do  its  work.  Many  times  during  the  day  kind 
voiced  men  and  women  came  and  went,  occasionally 
asking  him  a  question,  or  trying  to  make  him  a  little 
more  comfortable.  It  was  toward  evening  that  little 
Miss  Coudaire's  cool  fingers  were  again  laid  upon  his 
pulse,  and  he  was  reminded  of  their  conversation  of  the 
morning.  He  parted  his  lips  to  speak,  when  suddenly 
his  attention  was  arrested  by  a  steady,  insistent,  and 
familiar  noise  just  outside  his  window. 

"What's  that?"  in  quick  alarm,  trying  to  sit  up,  but 
finding  himself  unable  to  do  so.  Then  he  lay  back  and 
uttered  a  long  irrelevant  sentence  of  absolutely  mean- 
ingless words,  and  Miss  Coudaire  laid  a  refraining 
hand  upon  him. 

"Why,  that's  only  coal  being  put  down  the  coal- 
hole outside  there,"  she  said  soothingly,  pointing 
toward  the  window.  "You  musn't  be  alarmed,"  see- 
ing the  sudden  queer  look  which  flashed  over  Stanley's 
face  at  her  words.  She  feared  that  he  was  on  the 
verge  of  the  delirium  which  had  possessed  his  mind 
during  the  weeks  of  his  sojourn  in  the  hospital,  before 
Dr.  Deever  had  operated  for  concussion  of  the  brain. 
"Nothing  can  hurt  you  here.  I  won't  let  it !" 

Stanley's  mind  was  too  perturbed  and  preoccupied, 
however,  to  at  once  take  in  what  she  had  said.  The 
sudden  grating  noise  of  the  heavy  coal,  deafening  in 
its  rapid  persistency,  had  vividly  awakened  for  the  first 
time  the  memory  of  his  fight  with  the  Frenchman  in 
the  water-front  saloon. 

Bit  by  bit,  piece  by  piece,  he  put  this  picture  and  its 
succeeding  ones  together,  until  the  whole  episode  of 
that  wild  night  and  its  preceding  weeks  of  distress 
lay  before  him  as  a  completed  whole.  He  remembered 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    329 

his  mad  plunge  down  into  the  darkness  of  the  coal 
hole.  The  swift  agony  that  had  encompassed  him 
then  returned  to  him  now.  Why  had  he  not  been 
discovered  ? 

Stanley  lay  staring  up  at  the  nurse  with  frightened, 
dilated  eyes.  The  pain  in  his  head  increased  alarm- 
ingly. "Don't  let  him  get  me,"  he  tried  to  shout;  but 
his  jumbled  and  confused  words  reached  her  only  as 
an  aimless  sentence  indicative  of  his  mental  condi- 
tion. 

"You  are  perfectly  safe,  and  must  not  worry!  No 
one  shall  harm  you,"  and  she  held  a  glass  of  water  to 
his  feverish  lips. 

Again  closing  his  eyes  Stanley  made  as  if  he  were 
asleep,  but  through  his  aching  brain  her  reassuring 
words  kept  running,  each  time  they  repeated  them- 
selves seeming  to  him  to  become  more  and  more  a 
promise  of  hope  for  the  future.  He  lay  very  still, 
and  ceasing  to  wonder  about  everything,  gave  himself 
entirely  up  to  this  hope. 

Weeks  ensued,  and  though  he  had  not  been  able  to 
understand  many  of  the  conversations  about  his  con- 
dition which  he  had  overheard,  nevertheless  he  slowly 
gained  the  impression  that  something  had  happened  to 
his  brain.  With  this  impression  his  habitual  cunning 
had  returned,  making  him  intuitively  determine  that 
the  wisest  policy  for  him  lay  in  concealing  from  the 
doctors  and  nurses,  as  nearly  as  possible,  the  fact  of  his 
mental  improvement.  So  it  was  that  the  crazy  sen- 
tence which  had  at  one  time  involuntarily  risen  to  his 
lips  now  became  a  deliberate  act  of  deception. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  a  deep  voice  aroused  him,  "how 
are  things  going  with  you  ?"  and  he  looked  up  to  see  a 
round,  kindly  little  doctor  standing  by  his  bedside. 
For  several  moments  Stanley  stared  without  answer- 


330     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ing.  His  gripping  fear  of  detection  was  so  strong 
that  he  hardly  dared  speak.  Then,  determined  to  fol- 
low out  his  prescribed  course,  he  made  one  or  two 
sensible  remarks,  succeeded  by  a  long  string  of  con- 
fused and  meaningless  requests. 

Dr.  Deever  turned  to  the  nurse.  "He  is  undoubt- 
edly better,"  he  said.  "Has  he  given  any  indication 
of  being  conscious  of  his  own  identity?" 

The  nurse  shook  her  head.  "I  do  not  think  he 
knows  who  he  is  at  all,"  she  said,  "though  he  seems 
perfectly  conscious  otherwise,  just  as  he  has  the  past 
three  weeks.  His  confused  sentences  are  growing 
fewer." 

Her  words  added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  hope  already 
brightly  burning  in  Stanley's  heart,  and  permanently 
fixed  his  determination  never  to  let  them  guess  his 
entire  sanity.  They  evidently  had  no  idea  who  he  was. 
Well,  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  see  to  it  that 
they  never  did.  His  one  hope  of  succeeding  in  this 
undertaking  was  in  never  acknowledging  the  realiza- 
tion of  his  own  identity. 

The  doctor  drew  a  chair  up  and  sat  down.  The 
patient's  pulse  was  splendidly  strong.  He  had  no 
temperature.  The  operation  for  concussion  had  been 
successful.  He  was  no  longer  in  the  comatose  condi- 
tion in  which  he  had  lain  for  so  many  days  before  the 
operation.  Also,  so  far  as  outward  signs  were  con- 
cerned, the  laceration  of  the  brain  which  had  injured 
the  memory  centers  was  healing  nicely.  Yet  under 
the  stress  of  excitement,  or  upon  certain  occasions, 
many  of  the  young  man's  sentences  were  as  aimless  and 
inarticulate  as  ever. 

Dr.  Deever  now  wondered  if  these  spasmodic  spells 
of  confusion  were  not  occasioned  simply  from  a  habit 
of  thought.  Perhaps  by  trying  he  could  engineer  the 
man's  mind  back  upon  the  track  from  which  it  had 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    331 

deviated  to  the  extent  of  making  him  forget  his  own 
name. 

"Look  here,  my  man,"  he  said,  in  cordial  interest, 
"I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  you  broke  your  head  open," 
and  he  indicated  Stanley's  bandages,  now  less  than 
half  their  former  thickness.  "You've  had  a  bad  case 
of  concussion,  but  we  are  pulling  you  through  beau- 
tifully!" 

Stanley  stared  at  him,  a  puzzled  light  shining  in  his 
eyes.  Then  thinking  it  best  to  speak,  he  half  mumbled 
one  of  his  disconnected  rambling  sentences. 

The  doctor  called  him  up  short.  "Now  see  here," 
he  said,  trying  to  encourage  him,  "you  must  know 
better  than  that!  How  did  you  break  your  head?" 

Stanley's  face  took  on  a  most  distressed,  strained 
expression,  as  though  he  were  making  a  desperate 
effort  to  recall  something.  Then  he  slowly  shook  his 
head. 

"You  remember  your  name  though,  don't  you?" 

Stanley  looked  even  more  distressed. 

Dr.  Deever  glanced  up  at  the  nurse  with  a  profes- 
sionally significant  glance.  "I'm  very  much  afraid, 
Miss  Coudaire,"  he  said,  "that  it's  a  permanent  case  of 
aphasia.  Too  bad!"  and  he  and  the  nurse  were  very 
gentle  indeed  as  they  put  a  fresh  dressing  upon  Stan- 
ley's head  and  fixed  him  up  for  the  night. 

There  were  tears  in  little  Miss  Coudaire's  eyes  as 
she  and  the  doctor  walked  away  from  Stanley's  bed. 
"Oh,  I  feel  so  sorry  for  him!"  she  said.  "I  never  had 
so  grateful  a  patient!  Why,  the  slightest  and  most 
ordinary  attention  I  give  him,  Dr.  Deever,  he  greets 
with  a  pathetic  amount  of  gratitude !  I  do  so  wonder 
who  he  is !  It  seems  to  me  he  must  have  led  an  awfully 
starved,  loveless  sort  of  life !" 

Dr.  Deever  walked  on,  his  head  bowed,  his  hands 
thrust  deep  in  his  pockets.  The  look  in  the  boy's  eyes 


332     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

haunted  him.  Even  now  his  family,  whoever  they 
were,  were  doubtless  almost  frantic  because  of  his 
disappearance.  What  could  he  possibly  do  to  help  this 
stranded  fellow-creature  ?  From  a  medical  or  surgical 
standpoint  there  seemed  little  hope  of  his  entire  recov- 
ery of  memory.  He  sighed. 

"It's  a  pitiful  case,"  he  said.  "I  knew  of  a  similar 
case  years  ago,  when  I  was  working  in  my  first  State's 
Prison  position  way  up  home.  And  I'm  afraid  I 
may  not  be  able  to  help  him  when  he  gets  out  of  here, 
and  he'll  need  some  one  to  help  him,  goodness  knows, 
if  he  has  to  start  life  all  over  again!  I  must  see  what 
I  can  do,"  and  deep  in  thought  he  now  left  Miss 
Coudaire,  and  started  down  a  flight  of  iron  steps  which 
led  to  the  ward  below. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  stopping  and  looking  back 
at  her,  "Dr.  Williams  will  have  charge  of  the  case 
after  today." 

Miss  Coudaire  looked  her  surprise  and  concern. 

Noting  this  expresion,  Dr.  Deever  said,  "Oh,  didn't 
I  tell  you?  I'm  leaving  within  the  week."  Then, 
going  back,  he  said :  "Come,  sit  down  a  minute,  I  want 
to  tell  you  about  it.  I've  agreed  with  an  old  pal  of 
mine  to  establish  and  take  charge  of  a  Psychopathic 
Bureau  in  Warsaw  Prison.  I  believe  I  can  do  more 
good  there  than  in  my  present  practice,  and  after  all, 
you  know,  it  is  because  of  my  practice  upon  poor  devils 
like  men  shut  up  there  that  I  have  become  as  proficient 
as  I  am  to-day.  I  feel  therefore  that  it  is  only  just 
for  me  to  give  them  the  benefit  of  this  proficiency. 
With  Judge  Sawyer  I  believe  that  the  present  prison 
system  is  all  wrong.  I  hope  to  do  such  good  work 
upon  the  mentally  and  physically  deficient  prisoners, 
that  it  will  prove  for  all  time  the  truth  of  my  theory 
that  what  a  prison  really  needs,  first  and  foremost,  is 
a  skilled  diagnostician  to  examine,  observe,  and  clas- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     333 

sify  every  prisoner  immediately  upon  his  entrance, 
segregating  those  who  are  a  menace,  and  throwing 
others  together  in  such  a  way  as  to  bring  out  the  very 
best  qualities  in  each.  At  present  our  penal  institu- 
tions are  run  along  the  most  idiotic  and  unscientific 
lines.  What  do  you  suppose  the  public  would  say, 
Miss  Coudaire,  if  in  this  hospital  we  put  typhoid, 
diphtheria,  scarlet  fever,  hysterical  and  nervous 
patients,  along  with  tubercular  and  syphilitic  cases,  all 
in  the  same  ward,  taking  no  precaution  whatever  that 
they  did  not  contract  each  other's  diseases?  Yet  that 
is  exactly  what  is  being  done  morally,  yes,  and  in  the 
case  of  the  last  named  diseases,  actually,  in  every 
prison  we  have  in  this  country !  If  we  made  the  honor 
and  the  salary  what  it  should  be  for  such  diagnosti- 
cians, we  could  secure  the  best  men.  Many  men  would 
like  to  do  what  I  am  about  to  do,  that  is,  give  their 
services  for  such  work,  but  they  cannot  afford  it.  The 
result  of  such  physical  and  moral  segregation  would 
be  a  marked  decrease  in  the  number  of  crimes  com- 
mitted, I  think,  for  there  are  few  sayings  so  true  as 
the  one  that  'crime  breeds  crime.' ' 

Miss  Coudaire,  fascinated,  sat  listening  to  this 
famous  surgeon.  She  had  not  understood  before  how 
really  great  was  this  man,  a  greatness  the  world  would 
have  estimated  as  naught  because  it  had  no  price  and 
did  not  shine  by  its  ability  to  attract  fame  or  gold. 
How  she  would  love  to  do  in  her  own  simple  way  what 
he  was  about  to  do  in  such  a  splendid  and  unselfish 
way !  Perhaps  after  she  had  finished  her  course  at  the 
hospital  she  could  do  something  helpful,  too.  Ever 
since  she  had  entered  training  she  had  felt  that  nurs- 
ing should  occupy  a  loftier  plane  than  that  of  a  mere 
profession,  that  its  practice  of  skilled  ministration  and 
helpfulness  made  it  more  the  handmaid  of  religion. 

Catharine  Coudaire  loved  her  work.    Sometimes  she 


334     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

felt  that  in  practicing  nursing  she  was  leading  such  a 
real  and  full  life  that  all  other  work  seemed  poor  in 
comparison.  But  a  theory  to  which  it  had  given  birth 
was  fast  taking  a  strong  hold  upon  her  thoughts, 
which  were  that  health  should  be  as  compulsory  as 
education.  She  believed  that  the  services  of  nurses 
should  be  a  natural  and  accepted  part  of  the  functions 
of  government,  to  be  supplied  as  a  matter  of  course 
wherever  needed,  like  pure  drinking  water  or  any  of 
the  other  necessities  which  made  a  country  habitable. 
Knowing  from  her  daily  experience  what  a  wonderful 
lot  of  good  they  could  do,  she  longed  to  tell  the  world 
of  this  theory,  to  impress  upon  it  the  benefits  which 
would  flow  from  its  practical  adoption,  yet  she  did 
not  know  how. 

"Oh,  Dr.  Deever,"  she  said  earnestly.  "What  you 
are  about  to  do  is  wonderful!  How  I  wish  I  could 
help  you!" 

Dr.  Deever  looked  up  with  keen  pleasure  at  her 
enthusiasm.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  met  with  a 
surprising  lack  of  it  in  hers  and  his  profession  lately. 
The  modern  trend  of  specializing,  he  sometimes 
thought,  by  which  the  practice  of  medicine  has  ad- 
vanced from  a  "calling"  to  more  scientific  standards, 
had  done  away  with  the  old-time  unselfish  personal 
service  rendered  by  the  family  practitioner,  who,  more 
often  than  not  in  those  good  old  days  of  his  boyhood, 
had  served  as  the  whole  town's  beloved  guide,  phil- 
osopher, and  friend. 

"Perhaps  you  can  help  me  some  day,  Miss  Cou- 
daire,"  he  said,  and  rising  he  shook  hands  with  her 
warmly.  "I  shall  not  forget  that  wish.  You  may  hear 
from  me.  Good-bye,"  and  this  time  he  ran  down  the 
spiral  stairs  as  lightly  as  a  boy. 

Miss  Coudaire  turned  and  entered  the  ward.  It  was 
Sunday  afternoon,  and  visitors,  flower-laden,  were 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    335 

streaming  in  to  see  their  loved  ones.  Everywhere 
the  happy  eyes  of  the  patients  met  hers,  and  she  was 
summoned  by  many  of  them  to  be  proudly  introduced 
as  "Nurse." 

The  inmates  and  visitors  alike  were  a  motley  crew, 
in  many  instances  the  scum  of  Hampton's  poorer  dis- 
tricts-; but  in  every  one  of  the  patients'  faces,  by  suf- 
fering made  temporarily  refined,  there  glowed  an  affec- 
tionate gratitude  toward  the  little  nurse  who  gave 
them  more  than  merely  professional  service.  To  see 
her  moving  about  among  the  rough  men,  going  from 
one  bedside  to  another  to  tell  some  worried-eyed  wife 
that  her  husband  would  soon  be  back  with  her  and  the 
"kiddies"  again,  or  consoling  some  old  mother  whose 
boy  lay  so  still  and  white  that  death  seemed  very  near, 
showed  that  Catharine  Coudaire  was  a  universal 
mother,  sharing  joys  and  sorrows  alike,  and  bestowing 
upon  her  patients  the  very  essence  of  that  spirit  which, 
since  the  beginning  of  time,  has  made  woman  the 
channel  for  one  of  God's  greatest  blessings  to  His 
children. 

From  up  and  down  the  resounding  ward  there 
reached  her  ears  gay  laughter  intermingling  with  occa- 
sional cries  or  moans.  Smiles  and  tears  here  were 
fellow  lodgers.  The  big  place  represented  life  itself, 
so  varied  and  full  was  it  of  every  human  element.  Over 
in  the  bed  one  removed  from  Stanley  lay  a  young 
Scandinavian  giant  with  a  broken  hip.  Perched  be- 
side him  sat  his  tiny,  pink-cheeked  daughter,  her  eyes 
wide  while  she  told  him  the  story  of  her  dolly's  like 
illness  and  successful  cure.  Next  to  him  lay  an  old 
negro  man  whose  visitor  was  another  negro  like  him- 
self. Beyond  the  negro  the  man  who  had  smiled  on 
that  first  day  of  Stanley's  mental  awakening  was  talk- 
ing to  his  wife  and  family  of  six.  Of  all  the  occu- 
pants of  the  ward  Stanley  alone  had  no  visitorv  nor  was 


336    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

there  any  one  who  gave  him  more  than  a  passing 
glance. 

Miss  Coudaire's  heart  went  out  to  him.  Going 
over  she  was  approaching  his  bed  when  the  old  negro 
stopped  her. 

''Good  leetle  Missy,"  he  said  in  his  Southern  dia- 
lect, which  many  years  in  Hampton  had  in  no  way 
affected,  "please  ma'am,  put  dese  heah  flowers  in 
water,"  handing  her  a  bunch  of  gay  colored  peren- 
nials. "And  dese  heah  owanges  I  want  yer  to  deevide 
wid  yo'se'f  and  me — ef  I  kin  make  so  bold." 

Miss  Coudaire  thanked  him  kindly,  and  taking  the 
fruit  and  flowers  was  starting  away  when  the  negro 
said: 

"Bill,  heah,"  motioning  toward  his  visitor, 
"heared  dat  I  wuz  daid." 

Miss  Coudaire  looked  at  Bill. 

"Yassum,"  that  gentleman  said,  "I  heahed  'Polean 
was  daid;  but  I  didn't  feel  sure  'bout  hit,  so  I  jes'  up 
and  dressed  myse'f  all  in  black  and  brung  him  dese 
flowers.  Ef  he  was  daid  I  knowed  he  would  like  'em; 
and  ef  he  wuzn't  daid  I  knowed  he  would  rather  have 
dese  owanges,"  and  he  grinned,  pleased  at  his  show 
of  thoughtfulness. 

The  nurse  laughed.  "Well,  Napoleon  is  very  much 
alive,  William,"  she  said,  straightening  the  covers 
with  her  free  hand  while  she  smiled  at  the  aged  man. 
"He'll  be  going  out  next  week." 

"Humph,  I  doan  know  'bout  dat,"  Napoleon  grum- 
bled in  anything  but  a  pleased  tone.  "My  misery  is 
awful  bad.  So  is  my  livers  and  lights  and  my  utensils. 
I'se  in  a  pow'ful  po'  way.  Seems  to  me  sometimes  I 
kin  hear  Brudder  Gabriel  a  fairly  tootin'  on  his  horn !" 

Again  Miss  Coudaire  laughed;  but  without  answer- 
ing walked  off  down  the  corridor  to  get  a  vase. 

Coming  back  in  a  few  moments  she  noticed  a  frock- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     337 

coated,  feeble  old  white-haired  visitor  going  about  the 
ward,  piously  pausing  at  every  bed.  Rubbing  his  hands 
unctuously  together  he  rolled  his  eyes  heavenward  as 
he  talked.  Miss  Coudaire  could  imagine  exactly  what 
he  was  saying.  She  had  heard  him  several  times 
before ! 

She  frowned.  "There's  that  crank  again!"  she  ex- 
claimed beneath  her  breath.  Then  losing  her  patience 
entirely  as  she  saw  him  cross  over  to  Stanley's  bed, 
she  stopped  and  addressed  one  of  the  doctors  just  then 
entering  the  ward. 

"Dr.  Carley,"  she  said,  "can't  you  forbid  that  old 
man's  coming  here?"  and  she  pointed  toward  the 
white-haired  figure  who  had  by  now  reached  Stan- 
ley's side.  "He  is  a  perfect  nuisance,  and  gets  the 
patients  all  wrought  up.  Come  on,  like  a  dear,  and  tell 
him  that  poor  fellow  is  too  ill  to  be  talked  to !" 

Smiling  up  at  the  young  interne  she  led  the  way 
across  the  ward.  As  they  neared  Stanley's  bed  Miss 
Coudaire  could  see  that  he  was  deadly  pale,  and  that 
the  emaciated  hand  which  he  raised  to  his  head  was 
shaking  violently.  Angry  that  one  of  his  patients 
should  thus  be  made  so  nervous,  Dr.  Carley  quick- 
ened his  steps. 

"This  patient  is  too  ill  for  visitors,"  he  remarked 
briskly. 

He  had  hardly  finished  his  sentence,  however,  before 
Deacon  Dennison  had  turned  upon  him.  "I've  known 
this  young  man  for  years,"  he  said  indignantly.  "He 
is  only  too  glad  to  have  me  come  to  him  in  this  dark 
hour.  It  was  I,  with  the  help  of  the  All-mighty,  who 
showed  him  the  light.  Forsaking  Beelzebub  and  the 
error  of  his  ways  at  my  teachings,  he  learned  to  claim 
his  Maker " 

But  this  time  it  was  the  deacon's  turn  to  be  inter- 
rupted. Miss  Coudaire  saw  Stanley's  agitation  and, 


338    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

misreading  it  as  meaning  that  Deacon  Dennison's 
words  were  perhaps  arousing  his  memory,  she  hope- 
fully addressed  the  evangelist. 

"The  poor  fellow's  accident  destroyed  his  memory 
so  that  he  does  not  know  his  own  identity,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I've  been  feeling  so  sorry  for  his  family. 
Now  you  can  tell  us  how  we  can  reach  them.  Isn't  it 
splendid!"  and  taking  a  silver  pencil  from  her  pocket 
she  held  it  expectantly  suspended  above  her  tiny  pad. 
"I'll  wire  them  at  once  if  you'll  give  me  their  name 
and  address." 

A  spasmodic  quiver  passed  over  Stanley's  face,  but 
was  as  quickly  gone,  leaving  it  absolutely  expression- 
less. Murmuring  a  disconnected  sentence  he  desper- 
ately hoped  against  hope  that  he  would  continue  to 
deceive  everyone,  and  that  the  Deacon's  words  would 
not  give  the  situation  away. 

Deacon  Dennison  again  raised  his  eyes  heavenward, 
then  let  them  fall  as  he  said  in  a  voice  full  of  agonized 
sanctimoniousness : 

"So  far  as  I  know  he  has  no  family.  He  is  an 
ex-convict." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

JUDGE  SAWYER  looked  down  upon  the  sea  of  zebra- 
striped  men  before  him;  and  a  lump  rose  in  his  throat. 
There  met  his  gaze  the  burning  eyes  of  two  thousand 
citizens  who  had  been  deprived  of  citizenship  by  those 
who  sat  in  judgment  upon  their  erring  anr'  unfortunate 
fellows.  He  knew  that  the  throng  was  composed  of 
every  age,  but  the  impression  conveyed  to  his  mind 
was  that  these  men  were  all  old  and  gray,  though  pre- 
maturely so,  and  bent  with  care  and  suffering. 

Back  of  him  upon  the  chapel  platform  sat  several 
women.  In  the  coming  joy  of  Eastertide  these  moth- 
erly souls,  vaguely  feeling  the  need  of  doing  some- 
thing helpful,  had  offered  their  services  as  a  choir 
for  Easter  Sunday.  Visitors  were  seldom  allowed 
in  the  chapel  or  elsewhere  in  Warsaw  prison;  but  the 
officials,  having  gotten  wind  of  the  fact  that  Judge 
Sawyer  was  that  day  to  begin  his  hardly  fought- 
for  visit  to  the  place,  had  thought  it  best  to  let  these 
women  have  their  way.  Now  their  voices,  thin  and 
high-pitched,  rang  out  in  a  resurrection  anthem.  The 
sound  grated  upon  the  sensitive  ears  of  Judge  Sawyer 
as  he  sat  awaiting  his  turn  to  speak,  but  to  the  emo- 
tionally starved  prisoners  the  anthem  sounded  like 
sweet  tones  from  the  choir  of  Heaven. 

The  song  was  soon  over,  and  the  prison  chaplain 
taking  his  place  at  the  crude  pulpit  looked  over  his 
audience  with  sympathetic  eyes.  He  was  a  young, 
slender  man  in  the  early  thirties,  and  his  face,  though 
weak  chinned,  was  full  of  idealism.  Sprung  from  a 
family  the  members  of  which  had  smugly  stood  aside, 
letting  the  world  and  its  troubles  take  care  of  them- 
selves, he  had  quite  early  in  life  decided  that  he  must, 

339 


340     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

and  would,  do  something  to  help  those  of  his  fellow- 
men  who  needed  help.  It  had  been  a  bitter  struggle 
for  him  to  secure  his  parents'  consent  to  enter  the 
ministry  and  take  his  present  post,  and  even  yet  he 
showed  signs  of  their  early  repression  of  his  impulses 
by  a  certain  timidity  of  manner.  But  as  the  inmates 
in  Warsaw  Prison  had  heretofore  had  such  utterly 
despicable  ministerial  failures  to  preside  over  their 
spiritual  well-being,  to  them  this  young  apostle  seemed 
a  veritable  tower  of  kindness  and  strength.  In  spite 
of  his  adolescence,  Chaplain  Lewis  had  gained  an 
influence  over  the  men  which  few,  if  any,  before  him 
had  ever  gained. 

"Men,"  he  said  simply,  "I  am  glad  to  see  so  many 
of  you  here  today.  I  have  something  to  tell  you  which 
I  know  every  one  within  these  gray  walls  will  be  glad 
to  hear. 

"Last  week  after  our  Sunday  service  I  opened  my 
Bible  to  choose  the  text  upon  which  I  should  talk  to 
you  today.  My  eyes  fell  upon  these  words :  'A  prophet 
shall  the  Lord  your  God  raise  up  unto  you,  of  your 
brethren,  like  unto  me ;  him  shall  ye  hear  in  all  things, 
whatsoever  he  shall  say  unto  you." 

"I  was  seated  at  my  desk,  and  having  chosen  another 
text,  had  begun  to  write.  Hardly  had  I  written  my 

first  sentence,  however,  when,  looking  up,  I  saw 

a  new  prisoner  waiting,  as  I  thought,  for  the  routine 
words  of  advice  from  me  as  prison  chaplain " 

Here  he  had  to  pause,  for  premature  and  thunder- 
ous applause  had  met  his  words.  Smiling,  he  reached 
over  and  put  his  hand  upon  Judge  Sawyer's  shoulder, 
drawing  him  forward  to  his  side. 

"This  prisoner's  name  was  Bruce  Sawyer,"  he  said, 
knowing  that  the  renewed  hand  claps  showed  that  the 
news  of  the  judge's  identity  had  already  reached 
them.  "His  number  is  to  be  A3i." 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    341 

Again  the  men  applauded.  Then  the  chaplain,  pro- 
ceeding, said: 

"Truer  words  cannot  be  said  of  him  than  those 
I  have  already  quoted;  for  I  believe  his  coming  here 
to  live  among  us  in  order  to  learn  how  best  to  help 
us  is  the  dawn  of  a  new  day!  In  the  words  of  Luke, 
seventh  chapter,  sixteenth  verse :  'A  great  prophet  is 
sent  up  unto  us.  God  has  visited  his  pet  pie.' 

"Men,  I  present  to  you  your  brother  in  stripes, 
Number  A3i." 

Judge  Sawyer  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  found 
that  he  could  not  do  so.  Spontaneous  applause,  so 
vigorous  that  it  shook  the  entire  chapel,  welding  into 
one  the  great  indiscriminate  mass  representing  every 
country — yet  of  no  country — broke  loose!  And  then 
as  the  noise  subsided  he  again  attempted  to  speak,  but 
found  that  his  voice  was  not  at  his  command,  so 
touched  was  he  by  this  demonstration  of  the  men's 
belief  in  him !  To  see  these  poor  fellows,  many  of  them 
offenders  tried  before  his  own  court,  so  quick  to  re- 
spond to  any  ray  of  hope  or  sympathy,  reached  his 
heart  and  choked  his  utterance!  Even  should  his 
present  plan  fail  and  his  dream  never  come  true,  he 
thought,  this  manifestation  of  their  better  natures 
would  repay  him  for  any  discomfort  he  might  suffer 
while  in  their  midst.  Emotion  had  now  erased  from 
his  memory  every  word  of  the  address  he  had  so  care- 
fully prepared.  He  felt  utterly  powerless  before  these 
human  beings  who,  stripped  of  all  life's  artificiality 
and  conventions,  sat  before  him  now  as  primitive  and 
unaffected  by  civilization  as  had  been  their  remote 
ancestors.  What  did  it  matter  what  words  he  used — 
the  phrases — in  telling  them  the  object  of  his  visit? 
They  knew  he  had  come  to  help  them,  and  unlike  the 
lot  of  the  great  Master,  who  had  once  come  in  man's 
stature  to  help  such  as  they,  his  lot  was  to  receive 


342     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

from  them  instantaneous  welcome  and  unadulterated 
belief  in  him.  Hailing  him  as  saviour  before  he  had 
even  spoken,  by  their  every  look  and  gesture  they  pro- 
claimed to  him  their  faith  in  his  friendship. 

Oh,  the  shame,  the  crime  and  utter  injustice  of 
wasting  and  destroying  such  splendid  material  as  was 
in  these  men,  men  whom  the  State  had  seen  fit  to  cast 
aside  as  unworthy  of  help  or  reward.  He  must  find 
some  way  to  help  them ! 

Finally  controlling  his  voice,  Judge  Sawyer  spoke. 
In  his  words  none  of  his  emotion  was  shown,  but  to 
his  auditors,  understanding  as  they  did  the  depth  of 
his  real  sympathy  for  them,  his  every  sentence  seemed 
to  fall  from  his  lips  like  a  benediction. 

"I  have  been  a  judge  of  the  criminal  courts,  first  in 
my  own  and  then  in  this  state,  for  over  twenty-five 
years,"  he  said.  "  Many  of  you  have  doubtless  passed 
before  me.  My  legal  sanction  of  the  jury's  verdict 
has  helped  to  send  you  here.  Yet  in  all  these  years 
my  heart  has  never  ceased  to  ache  for  you,  and  while 
observing  strictly  the  duties  imposed  upon  me  by  virtue 
of  my  judicial  office,  I  have  consistently  tried  to  be 
absolutely  fair  to  you  in  my  rulings  and  decisions." 

The  men  sat  silent  before  him  listening  so  intently 
that  the  slightest  rustle  among  them  stood  out  as  a 
blatant  noise.  Feeling  the  intensity  of  their  attitude 
Judge  Sawyer's  embarrassment  passed,  and  into  his 
voice  there  stole  a  note  of  sympathy  and  perturbation. 

"My  experience  on  the  bench  has  led  me  to  believe 
that  practically  all  men  can  be  led  to  become  law- 
abiding  citizens  if  the  right  means  are  employed  to  that 
end,"  he  said  with  deadly  earnestness.  "That  our 
present  penal  system  is  not  employing  such  means  I 
have  thought  for  a  long  time.  I  am  now  here  to  find 
out.  Being  a  judge  in  my  own  case  as  I  have  been 
in  yours,  I  have  sentenced  myself  to  two  weeks  among 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     343 

you.  I  have  reached  the  point  in  my  life  where  my 
conscience  demands  that  I  know  exactly  to  what  sort  of 
a  place  I  have  been  sentencing  men." 

A  ripple  of  emotion  ran  through  the  audience,  but 
was  quickly  stilled  when  the  judge  went  on: 

"I  shall  wear  your  stripes.  I  shall  eat,  sleep,  work, 
and  live  among  you.  But  that  you  may  be  really  help- 
ful to  me  in  doing  this,  and  thus  through  me,  perhaps, 
helpful  to  your  whole  brotherhood  the  world  over,  you 
must  act  toward  each  other,  toward  the  guards  and 
toward  me,  exactly  as  you  have  always  acted  since 
entering  these  walls.  In  no  other  way  shall  I  be  able 
to  judge  of  the  true  conditions  that  prevail  in  the 
institutions  adopted  by  Society,  and  conducted  under 
the  authority  of  the  State,  for  the  ostensible  purpose 
of  the  punishment  and  the  reforming  of  criminals." 

At  these  words  an  ugly  murmur  ran  through  the 
crowd.  Instantly  understanding  its  import,  the  judge 
hastened  to  say: 

"Yes,  I  know  that  all  of  you  call  this  thing,  this 
imprisonment  to  which  the  law  has  subjected  you,  by 
another  name — a  name  importing  the  'wwmaking  of 
men' !  Perhaps  you  are  right — in  fact,  from  what  I 
hear,  I  am  inclined  to  think  you  are.  The  name  you 
use  may  be  the  more  truthful  description  of  the  two. 
Whether  the  result  of  prisons  as  they  are  run  to-day 
is  reforming  or  deforming  to  mankind,  is  the  question 
at  issue.  I  am  here  to  find  out — with  your  help — which 
is  the  probable  result.  And  now  before  I  cease  speak- 
ing— for  I  cannot  speak  to  you  or  enter  into  conversa- 
tion with  you  again,  I  believe,  under  the  rules  of  War- 
saw— let  me  say  this : 

"You  must  try  to  forget  who  and  what  I  am.  To 
you  I  must  be  simply  one  of  you — a  man  like  your- 
selves, who  is  suffering  presumably  because  he  has 
broken  a  rule  of  Truth  and  Right.  None  of  us  can  do 


344     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

that,  you  know,  inside  or  outside  of  prison,  without 
having  to  pay  the  penalty.  Truth,  like  the  law  of 
gravitation,  cannot  be  permanently  overcome.  Those 
who  try  to  overcome  it  invariably  find  themselves  pris- 
oners in  one  way  or  another. 

"I  am  here  to  try  to  help  you — to  discover,  if  I  can, 
the  truth  about  prisons." 

Then  breaking  off  abruptly,  for  he  had  looked  at  his 
watch  and  found  that  he  had  used  up  the  allotted  time 
given  him  for  this  address,  he  said  abruptly : 

"That  is  all,"  and  turning  he  descended  from  the 
platform.  Immediately  joining  the  principal  keeper 
who  was  awaiting  him  he  was  marched  from  the 
chapel. 

The  men  at  a  given  command  from  several  armed 
guards  standing  about,  formed  themselves  into  small 
squads  and,  with  a  guard  at  the  head  of  each,  silently 
marched  from  the  chapel  back  to  their  cells. 

"Who  is  that  old  man  there?"  Judge  Sawyer  asked, 
his  attention  attracted  by  a  tall  white-haired  man 
behind  the  last  squad  of  prisoners. 

As  he  spoke  the  man's  feet  reached  an  unevenness 
in  the  courtyard's  flagging,  and  plunging,  he  grap- 
pled wildly  in  the  air.  Then  regaining  his  balance,  he 
drew  angrily  away  as  a  guard  approached  him  and 
took  him  by  the  elbow. 

"He's  blind!"  Judge  Sawyer  exclaimed  with  deep 
concern,  noticing  the  man's  big  unlighted  eyes  as  he 
threw  back  his  head  with  an  expression  of  intolerable 
defiance  at  the  guard's  touch.  "Who  is  he  ?" 

"Number  BBXII,"  the  principal  keeper  answered. 

"I  do  not  mean  his  number,  man,  but  his  name!" 
Judge  Sawyer  exclaimed.  "What's  his  name?" 

The  P.  K.  looked  nonplussed,  then  answered :  "We 
don't  know  the  names  of  any  of  the  prisoners." 

Judge   Sawyer  frowned.      "Another  manifestation 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     345 

of  the  working  of  our  system,  I  suppose!  As  though 
depriving  a  man  of  his  name  can  have  any  other 
result  than  to  deprive  him  of  a  certain  amount  of  his 
self-respect.  It's  damnable!"  and  watching  the  blind 
man's  figure  as  it  crossed  the  courtyard  and  was 
swallowed  up  by  the  door  of  the  main  cell-block,  he 
asked : 

"How  long  has  he  been  here  ?   Do  you  know  that  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  the  P.  K.  answered. 

"Well,  it's  infamous  to  keep  a  man  afflicted  as  he 
is  shut  up!  I  intended  commencing  my  life  as  a 
prisoner  at  once,  but  I  guess  I'll  see  the  warden  about 
that  case  before  I'm  placed  in  a  position  where  I  can't. 
Take  me  to  his  office,"  pondering  as  to  what  was  the 
best  plan  to  pursue. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  P.  K.  agreed,  not  in  the  least  know- 
ing how  much  political  influence  was  possessed  by  this 
crank  whom  he  had  in  tow,  and  therefore  being  ex- 
ceedingly anxious  to  stay  in  his  good  graces.  / 

Judge  Sawyer  entered  the  warden's  office.  "War- 
den," he  said,  "upon  my  entrance  to  Warsaw  I  said 
that  I  should  ask  no  favors  except  that  I  be  treated 
exactly  like  the  other  men.  Well,  I've  changed  my 
mind.  I  should  like  you  to  do  me  a  favor." 

The  warden  smiled,  exchanging  a  sneering  I-told- 
you-so  glance  with  the  P.  K.  Both  of  these  officials 
had  said  from  the  beginning  that  this  self-appointed 
martyr  would  never  really  put  up  with  the  hardships 
of  the  legitimate  prisoners.  His  was  only  a  grandstand 
play, — a  striving  for  the  notoriety  which  invariably 
comes  to  anyone  who  pretends  to  stand  for  the  under- 
dog! Doubtless  like  many  fair  dames  of  social  pre- 
tension who,  perchance,  spent  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  on  personal  comforts  or  a  string  of  pearls, 
while  working  feverishly  to  raise  a  hundred  dollars 
for  a  pet  charity  through  the  gratis  services  of  some 


346     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

poor  musician  or  other,  this  judge  was  now  going  to 
ask  for  all  the  comforts  of  home,  while  apparently 
suffering  the  privations  of  the  prisoners!  The  warden 
again  winked  at  the  keeper;  but  said  to  the  judge: 

"Certainly,  Commissioner,  certainly.  Glad  to  do 
anything  I  can  for  your  comfort." 

Judge  Sawyer  frowned  at  these  words,  which  con- 
veyed to  him  perfectly  the  man's  idea  of  the  character 
of  the  favor  he  would  request.  "I  want  no  comforts," 
he  said.  "In  fact,  I  am  asking  for  an  added  discom- 
fort. This  prison  is  overcrowded,  I  believe?" 

The  warden  nodded,  but  only  half-heartedly.  He 
feared  to  commit  himself  even  in  this  small  way.  He 
did  not  feel  sure  what  was  about  to  be  forthcoming. 
Drat  this  crank's  infernal  interference  anyway! 

"And  you'll  have  to  put  two  prisoners  in  one  cell 
in  order  to  let  me  have  one  to  myself  ?"  the  judge  went 
on. 

"Why,  er — yes,"  the  warden  answered,  seeing  no 
danger  in  this  admission,  but  rather  an  opportunity 
to  show  the  commissioner  how  welcome,  even  in- 
vited, his  investigations  were.  "It's  against  the  rule, 
I  believe,  but  we  certainly  couldn't  turn  you  away, 
Judge." 

"Then  instead  of  putting  some  other  two  prisoners 
in  a  cell  together,"  Judge  Sawyer  suggested,  "sup- 
pose you  put  me  with  that  blind  man." 

The  warden  gasped.  Of  all  requests  in  the  world 
this  request  was  about  the  last  he  had  expected,  and 
its  granting  would  be  decidedly  the  most  undesirable 
thing  that  could  possibly  happen.  Number  BBXII 
knew  too  much  to  be  trusted  alone  with  an  inves- 
tigator! During  the  warden's  Reign  of  Terror,  this 
blind  man,  defiant,  insolent,  and  independent  to  the 
last  degree,  had  been  made  to  suffer  every  torment 
conceivable  to  those  in  charge  of  him;  for  he,  poor  out- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    347 

spoken  soul,  could  not  and  would  not  allow  his  spirit 
to  be  broken.  Feeling  in  the  desolate  misery  of  his 
eternal  night  that  death,  even  inflicted  by  torture,  was 
preferable  to  a  life  such  as  he  had  been  forced  to  lead 
within  prison  walls,  he  had  continued  to  say  exactly 
what  he  pleased  on  all  occasions  ever  since  his  incar- 
ceration had  begun.  He  was  by  nature  too  high- 
minded  to  resort  to  the  stool  pigeon,  as  many  others 
did,  for  what  little  comfort  they  could  give  him 
through  their  surreptitious  traffic  in  drugs.  Opium  and 
the  like  were  taken  by  the  vast  majority  of  the  inmates 
to  deaden  enforced  wasteful  years;  but  BBXII,  refus- 
ing this  temptation,  spent  his  time  in  defying  and 
berating  all  those  in  authority  who  came  within  his 
reach.  In  consequence  he  had  been  subjected  to  a 
very  hell  on  earth.  Beaten,  given  the  "water  cure," 
hung  by  the  wrists  and  thumbs,  put  upon  the  rack, 
made  to  wear  the  strait- jacket,  and  to  tread  the  wheel, 
and  forced  to  go  through  many  other  atrocious  and 
barbarous  cruelties  of  the  Modern  Inquisition,  he  was 
at  last  physically  shattered  by  a  well  aimed  series  of 
blows  which  had  left  him  a  weakened  wreck.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  this  and  his  lack  of  sight,  he  was  con- 
sidered the  most  dangerous  man  in  prison,  and  though 
the  guards  abused  him,  they  still  feared  him  much  as  a 
murderer  has  a  sense  of  fear  in  the  presence  of  the 
body  he  has  mutilated.  So  now  it  was  that  the  warden 
feared  to  have  the  judge  meet  this  man. 

After  his  request  Judge  Sawyer  had  stood  watching 
the  warden's  face.  It  was  a  study;  and  realizing  that 
he  had  probably  unlocked  the  door  which  hid  the 
prison's  family  skeleton,  so  to  speak,  his  determination 
to  meet  and  talk  with  the  blind  man  grew  apace.  He 
remarked  aloud: 

"I  think  allowing  me  to  room  with  someone  would 
doubtless  give  me  a  better  insight  into  the  personnel  of 


348    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

prisoners  as  a  class.  One  cannot  eat,  sleep,  and  live 
in  such  close  confines  with  a  fellow  creature  without 
getting  an  occasional  glimpse  at  least  into  his  inner- 
most self." 

But  by  now  the  warden  had  recovered  from  his 
surprise  and  was  speaking.  "My  dear  Commissioner, 
that  would  never  do!"  he  exclaimed  volubly.  "Why, 
that  man  is  not  only  vicious,  but — well,  I  wouldn't 
be  surprised  to  hear  that  he  had  any,  in  fact  many, 
illnesses,  which  would  make  it  positively  dangerous 
for  your  physical  welfare " 

"I  suppose,"  Judge  Sawyer  broke  in  sarcastically, 
"that  your  expert  hospital  staff  has  never  felt  quite 
sure!" 

The  warden's  thin  lips  drew  themselves  into  a  hard 
line;  but  ignoring  the  interruption  he  proceeded  with 
every  display  of  anxiety  for  his  guest's  comfort: 

"He  has  had  tuberculosis,  at  least,  for  a  long  time, 
and  as  for " 

"Well,  that's  my  lookout,"  Judge  Sawyer  again 
broke  in  tersely.  "I'm  not  afraid!  I  ask  you  as  a 
favor  that  you  let  me  share  the  cell  with  this  man. 
Will  you  do  it?" 

The  warden  did  not  answer,  but  sat  trying  to  think 
of  some  way  in  which  he  could  dissuade  this  crank 
from  what  would  be  to  him  a  really  perilous  course. 
He  hardly  dared  refuse  the  commissioner's  request. 
The  commissioner  was  a  judge,  and  the  receiving 
of  bribes  was  in  itself  a  penitentiary  offense,  besides 
which  there  were  other  secrets  in  the  warden's  life, 
both  public,  and  private,  that  would  not  bear  the  light 
of  day.  The  commissioner's  brother-in-law  was  the 
Governor  of  the  state.  His  brother  was  United  States 
Attorney.  It  was  bad  enough  to  have  him  a  "re- 
former," but  to  incur  his  personal  enmity The 

wisest  course  was  to  employ  such  diplomacy  as  he 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    349 

possessed  in  an  endeavor  to  dissuade  the  judge  from 
persisting  in  his  purpose. 

"My  dear  Judge,"  he  said  in  the  most  cordial  of 
tones,  "you  know  as  State  Commissioner  that  you 
may  go  exactly  where  you  please  in  the  prison;  but 
as  an  admirer  of  yours  I  should  hate  to  see  you  delib- 
erately run  such  a  risk.  Your  object  in  wanting  to 
share  BBXII'S  cell  is  to  get  his  views  upon  prison 
life,  I  suppose." 

Judge  Sawyer  assented. 

"Then  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Commissioner," 
pleased  at  his  own  astuteness,  "we'll  put  you  in  the 
cell  next  to  his.  It  will  be  quite  simple  for  you  to  talk 
to  him  through  the  wall.  On  Sundays  you'll  walk  just 
ahead  of  him  in  the  chapel  squad.  I  can  give  you  the 
special  privilege  of  conversing  with  him,  of  course, 
any  time  that  you  wish  it.  This  would  be  a  suspen- 
sion of  the  rules  in  your  favor,  but  I  think  you  will 
find  it  practically  impossible  to  spend  two  weeks  in 
prison  without  this  occurring." 

To  himself  the  warden  resolved  that  he  would  see 
to  it  that  the  blind  man  was  silenced  in  some  way  or 
other  long  before  he  could  have  had  time  to  tattle 
to  the  commissioner. 

Judge  Sawyer  thought  deeply  for  several  moments. 
His  judgment  told  him  that  unless  he  did  see  and  talk 
to  this  blind  man  his  term  in  prison  would  not  be 
altogether  the  success  he  wanted  it  to  be.  But  he 
deemed  it  unwise  to  antagonize  the  warden  too  much. 
Doubtless  if  he  occupied  the  cell  next  to  the  blind 
man's,  he  could  in  some  way  get  far  more  information 
than  the  warden  now  supposed.  He  bethought  him  of 
the  stool-pigeons,  those  "trusties"  who  serve  both  God 
and  Mammon  by  receiving  bribes  from  prisoners  and 
guards  alike.  He  remembered  also  having  heard  that 
many  of  the  guards  were  not  averse  to  having  their 


350     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

palms  crossed  with  magic  gold.  Tact  and  diplomacy 
were  needed.  He  would  accept  the  warden's  advice. 

"Well,  Warden,"  he  said,  "I  don't  want  to  go  con- 
trary to  what  you  think  best.  You've  indeed  been  help- 
ful in  your  advice  so  far,  and  so  I'll  take  it  again.  Put 
me  in  the  cell  you  suggest." 

The  warden's  muscles  relaxed.  He  had  been  more 
nervous  than  even  he  himself  knew.  As  a  young 
politician  he  had  begun  his  climb  toward  the  salary 
of  a  warden  over  the  maimed  and  dead  spirits  of  his 
brother  men.  His  sleep  was  seldom  that  of  the  just! 
But  now,  thanks  to  his  own  cleverness,  he  was  safe. 
He  had  not  for  nothing  acquired  through  years  of 
terror  the  effective,  albeit  unwilling,  loyalty  of  the  men 
under  his  charge.  The  judge's  investigation  should 
be  a  fiasco.  Number  BBXII  was  the  only  man  in 
prison  whom  he  and  his  tools  had  not  been  able  to 
terrorize  into  silence.  But  they  could  fix  him!  The 
warden  smiled. 

"P.  K.,"  he  said  to  the  keeper,  who  had  stood  closely 
observant  throughout  the  interview,  "put  the  judge 
through  the  regular  examination,  and  so  forth,  and 
then  give  him  cell  number  42  on  Tier  B." 

Then,  turning  back  to  Judge  Sawyer,  he  said :  "If 
you'll  just  look  over  these  data,"  handing  him  some 
papers  while  giving  the  keeper  a  look  he  understood 
perfectly,  "the  P.  K.  will  see  that  the  cell  is  made 
ready  for  you."  And  nonchalantly  raising  his  hand 
to  his  head  in  an  unconventional  and  friendly  salute, 
the  secret  significance  of  which  was  thoroughly  under- 
stood by  the  P.  K.,  he  watched  him  with  apparent 
carelessness  as  he  left  the  office. 

Soon  returning,  the  P.  K.  politely  summoned  the 
judge  to  his  new  abode.  The  judge's  footsteps  had 
hardly  died  away  from  the  echoing  corridors  before 
the  warden  had  summoned  his  most  trusty  tools. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    351 

Arranging  themselves  respectfully  before  him,  stool- 
pigeon  and  guard  alike  stood  awaiting  his  commands. 
Those  commands  were  not  very  elaborate,  nor  were 
they  couched  in  chosen  English. 

"You've  seen  that  damn  fool  of  a  commissioner," 
he  said  bluntly.  "He's  entering  here,  as  you  know,  for 
two  weeks.  It's  up  to  you  to  see  to  it  that  he  don't 
learn  a  God  damned  thing  that's  true!"  and  he  turned 
to  the  papers  upon  his  desk. 

Judge  Sawyer  entered  his  cell.  Night  descended. 
The  sounds  of  souls  in  torment  reached  his  ears.  The 
guards  tramping  along  the  narrow  confines  of  the 
stone  and  steel  balcony  corridors  that  ran  along  in 
front  of  each  tier  apparently  paid  no  heed  to  the 
new  inmate  as  he  sat  in  the  dark  trying  to  still  the  sick 
horror  which  seemed  fast  overcoming  him.  The  night 
was  cold,  and  the  guards  on  duty,  feeling  chilly,  had 
tightly  closed  the  three  high-set  and  tiny  corridor 
windows  which  served  for  ventilation  for  the  twelve 
cells  upon  each  tier.  The  air  in  the  prison,  damp  and 
foul  from  lack  of  sunshine,  was  now  made  almost  un- 
bearably suffocating  by  the  noisome  smells  arising 
from  these  human  cages. 

He  had  promised  to  stay  here  two  weeks,  he  remem- 
bered with  consternation.  How  could  he  stand  it !  Yet 
his  neighbors,  with  no  expectation  of  early  deliver- 
ance to  sustain  them,  did  stand  it!  As  he  sat  medi- 
tating on  the  prospect  before  him,  in  the  deadly  still- 
ness of  the  place  a  tick-tacking,  apparently  upon  his 
wall,  suddenly  sounded  out  and  made  him  jump. 

Further  away,  next  but  one  beyond  his  own  cell, 
as  nearly  as  he  could  guess,  this  noise  was  answered. 
Back  and  forth  it  went,  an  uncanny  yet  intelligent 
sound,  until  the  judge  made  up  his  mind  that  two 
prisoners,  his  next  door  neighbor  and  the  man  in  the 
cell  beyond  him,  were  communicating  with  each  other. 


352    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

This  interested  him  immensely,  and  all  through  the 
night,  for  it  continued  intermittently  until  dawn,  he 
lay  upon  his  cot  trying  to  decipher  the  code,  though 
often  gasping  for  breath  in  the  unaccustomed  noxious- 
ness of  the  polluted  atmosphere. 

The  next  morning,  soon  after  it  had  ceased  and  he 
himself  had  fallen  into  a  troubled  sleep,  his  number 
was  called.  Opening  his  eyes  he  saw  a  guard  stand- 
ing at  his  barred  door. 

"Time  to  git  up,"  the  guard  said,  trying  hard  to 
make  his  tone  exactly  like  that  which  he  ordinarily  used 
to  the  regular  prisoners,  but  finding  it  difficult  to 
suppress  the  respect  he  felt  for  the  judge  because  of  his 
political  influence.  "In  two  minutes  from  now  you 
must  git  in  line  for  breakfast  and  the  shop.  Git  a 
move  on !"  and  the  guard  was  gone. 

Judge  Sawyer  drew  himself  up  stiffly  from  the 
shuck  mattress  upon  which  he  had  been  trying  to 
secure  some  rest,  and  hurriedly  tossing  back  his  white 
hair,  for  prisoners  were  allowed  no  comb  and  brush 
or  other  toilet  facilities,  he  did  as  the  guard  bade  him, 
standing  silently  and  erect  at  the  door  of  his  cell. 

The  door  was  unlocked  by  the  guard,  and  following 
the  lead  of  the  other  prisoners,  as  judged  by  sound, 
he  turned  the  steel  knob  of  his  door  and  stepped  into 
the  corridor.  With  expectant  interest  he  turned  to  look 
at  the  blind  man  back  of  him,  the  neighbor  he  had 
deliberately  chosen.  Much  to  his  surprise  he  was 
not  there,  but  in  his  place  stood  a  strapping  young 
fellow  with  a  straightforward,  honest  face. 

Judge  Sawyer  looked  in  front  of  him.  The  broad 
back  of  a  short  fat  man  met  his  gaze.  Looking  up  and 
down  the  line  as  far  as  he  could  see,  he  perceived  no 
figure  that  in  the  slightest  degree  suggested  that  of  the 
blind  man  he  had  seen  the  day  before.  Had  the  warden 
fooled  him?  Put  him  in  another  cell  than  that  which 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    353 

he  had  requested?  Wasn't  he  next  door  to  the  blind 
man  after  all?  The  blood  rushed  to  his  face  in  anger. 
If  the  warden  had  deliberately  fooled  him,  well,  he 
would  fix  him,  all  right,  when  he  got  out ! 

He  was  shocked  to  find  himself  employing  the  very 
thoughts  that  were  invariably  used  by  the  prisoners! 
So  even  one  night  in  prison  had  bred  in  him  revenge ! 
He  smiled  whimsically.  Evidently  he  would  not  make 
a  very  model  prisoner. 

At  a  command  from  the  guard  in  charge,  the  long 
somber  file  of  men  now  marched  forward,  their  slov- 
enly and  unambitious  feet  dragging  raspingly  along 
the  stones  of  the  hall,  the  chains  and  balls  many  of 
them  wore  clattering  and  banging  along  noisily. 

Overhead  in  the  tier  above  the  same  thing  was  occur- 
ring. Judge  Sawyer  looked  up  and  up.  There  were 
one,  two,  three,  four  floors  full  of  these  same  shamed 
men  silently  filing  out  from  the  prison  darkness  into  the 
walled-in  courtyard  where  restricted  rays  of  sunlight 
touched  them  with  hope  and  cheer.  There  were  several 
dozens  of  these  men,  yet  this  wing  in  which  he  stood 
was  only  one  of  the  many  such  cell  blocks  that  com- 
posed Warsaw  Prison. 

As  the  squad  of  which  Judge  Sawyer  was  a  mem- 
ber passed  through  the  outer  prison  door  and  was 
ordered  to  cross  the  courtyard,  low  whispered  words 
reached  his  ears.  He  looked  quickly  around  to  see  if 
the  young  fellow  back  of  him  had  spoken;  but  the 
young  man's  face  was  entirely  expressionless,  and  his 
lips,  though  held  slightly  apart,  did  not  move.  He  was 
looking  disinterestedly  ahead,  and  as  the  judge  turned 
upon  him  his  eyes  did  not  waver  for  an  instant. 

"Yes,  it  is  I  talking,"  the  judge  heard  him  saying, 
though  his  face  held  its  same  passive  expression. 
"Don't  let  them  see  you  look  at  me.  If  they  catch 
us,  everything  will  be  up  for  us  both." 


354     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Judge  Sawyer,  thrilling  with  the  uncanniness  of  this 
queer  conversation,  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  march- 
ing on,  listened  as  the  queer  hoarse  whispers,  utterly 
without  intonation  or  inflection,  proceeded. 

"I  heard  you  in  chapel  yesterday.  Every  one  of 
us  boys  would  die  for  you,  Judge.  You're  doing  a 
man's  work  in  a  man's  way!  The  poor  blind  fellow 
sends  you  a  note,"  and  Judge  Sawyer  was  thereupon 
conscious  of  something  in  his  palm,  without  knowing 
how  it  got  there.  "Being  blind,  he's  kept  shut  up  in  his 
cell;  and  the  warden  isn't  really  going  to  let  you  talk 
to  him  or  any  of  the  rest  of  us;  don't  fool  yourself! 
Dumb  men  tell  no  tales,  and  God  knows  the  tales  we 
could  tell  in  this  place " 

But  he  broke  off.     A  guard  was  approaching. 

The  whole  performance  had  been  so  queer,  so  weird, 
so  like  Alice  in  Wonderland,  that  Judge  Sawyer  felt 
as  if  he  were  in  a  dream.  In  all  his  dealings  with 
crime  and  criminals,  this  was  the  very  first  time  he  had 
come  in  contact  with  the  "silent  language"  of  prisons. 
No  wonder  that  convicts  became  abnormal  and  dan- 
gerous men,  he  thought.  He  longed  to  answer  the 
young  man,  and  to  ask  him  questions;  but  he  did  not 
dare.  In  some  way  the  knowledge  of  his  whispers 
must  have  reached  the  guard,  for  that  companionable 
gentleman  did  not  leave  Judge  Sawyer's  side  during 
the  rest  of  the  journey. 

On  they  shuffled,  first  to  the  mess  hall,  and  thence, 
after  a  disgustingly  unpalatable  meal,  to  that  part  of 
the  workshop  to  which  his  squad  had  been  detailed. 
Entering,  Judge  Sawyer  discovered  he  had  been  given 
what  the  prisoners  themselves  consider  the  pick  of 
prison  work — that  of  tailoring.  Yet  how  ill  chosen  this 
was !  Thinking  of  himself  as  a  real  prisoner,  with  his 
superior  education,  how  much  more  use  to  the  state 
he  could  have  been  in  some  other  capacity. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    355 

All  through  the  day  he  sat  in  the  ill  lighted,  ill 
ventilated  cellar  room,  sewing  long  seams  upon  drab 
cloth  so  cheap  and  coarse  that  it  felt  like  sacking  to  his 
sensitive  fingers.  He  was  working  upon  a  pair  of  trou- 
sers to  be  worn  by  a  man  when  the  State  should  have 
released  his  body — his  spirit  would  never  be  released, 
the  judge  thought  bitterly. 

It  was  the  policy  of  Warsaw  to  force  each  prisoner 
to  "specialize"  in  his  work.  This  did  not  mean  special- 
ization in  the  generally  accepted  sense,  but  was  merely 
the  State's  way  of  seeing  to  it  that  a  prisoner's  work 
was  made  as  monotonous  as  possible,  thus  robbing  him 
of  any  incentive  or  interest  in  his  daily  life.  This, 
of  course,  was  a  necessary  part  of  his  punishment. 
Prisoners  were  seldom  given  jobs  for  which  their 
former  life  had  fitted  them;  but  each  and  every  one  of 
them  received  their  daily  employment  as  they  did  their 
cells,  by  the  simple  rule  of  allotment. 

Judge  Sawyer  did  not  understand  this,  and  so  ex- 
pected that  the  next  day  or  so  would  see  him  trans- 
ferred to  the  caning  or  shoeing  department,  or  where 
the  prisoners  made  brooms.  Not  that  he  cared  any 
more  than  they  what  he  did,  but  he  wished  to  be  able 
to  thoroughly  investigate  every  branch  of  the  prison's 
industry.  On  various  occasions  before  his  entrance, 
when  he  had  complained  that  the  prisons  were  con- 
ducted upon  mediaeval  lines,  he  had  been  reassured  by 
the  other  commissioners  that  Warsaw  was  one  of  the 
most  up-to-date  in  the  country.  He  had  believed  this 
because  of  his  experience  in  the  South,  where  a  few 
years  before  he  had  visited  a  prison  in  which  the  in- 
mates were  allowed  to  do  no  work,  but  were  kept 
locked  in  their  cells  every  day  and  all  day.  The  statis- 
tics showed  that  there  were  few  among  the  inmates, 
except  for  the  negroes,  who  did  not  have  to  be  trans- 


356    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

ferred  to  the  insane  asylum  before  the  end  of  their 
sentences. 

About  the  tailor's  shop  armed  guards  stood.  Upon 
a  raised  platform  at  the  end  of  this  room  there  was 
an  officer  in  charge.  Like  a  sphinx  he  sat,  a  loaded 
rifle  across  his  knees.  Huddled  together  around  an  ill- 
smelling  kerosene  stove  a  dozen  or  more  prisoners  sat 
sewing.  They  were  not  allowed  to  talk.  The  guards 
did  the  talking  instead!  The  epithets  they  used  were 
supposed  to  keep  the  prisoners  at  work ;  besides  which, 
talking  was  the  only  form  of  entertainment  the  guards 
had.  Today,  however,  their  epithets  were  much  milder 
and  less  frequent.  They  had  all  received  their  warn- 
ing of  the  meaning  of  Judge  Sawyer's  presence  among 
them.  Prisoners  and  guards  alike  felt  the  strain. 

The  long  dull  day  wore  on.  The  close  air  in  the 
shop  mingling  with  body  odors  and  the  smell  of  the 
kerosene  stove  made  the  judge's  head  ache  violently. 
Here  and  there  a  man  moved  restlessly,  a  groan  break- 
ing from  his  lips.  Toward  evening  one  of  them 
who  had  become  more  and  more  restless,  without  any 
apparent  reason  swore  aloud.  A  guard,  surprised,  but 
ready  for  him,  strode  over  in  his  direction  and  leveled 
his  pistol  threateningly. 

"Here,  you !"  he  said,  "cut  that  out !" 

But  before  he  could  reach  the  far  corner  where  the 
man  sat,  tailor  fashion,  the  man  had  gotten  up  upon 
his  feet  and  had  begun  to  scream  hysterically.  Throw- 
ing the  long  seam  he  had  been  sewing  to  one  side  he 
began  beating  his  head  with  his  hands,  his  eyes  rolling 
wildly  and  froth  foaming  from  his  lips.  His  shouted 
words  were  inarticulate,  and  the  other  prisoners,  look- 
ing toward  him  in  alarm,  realized  he  had  suddenly 
gone  mad.  A  wild  cry  of  sympathy  broke  out  among 
them,  and  jumping  to  their  feet  they  massed  them- 
selves together  like  huddled  cattle. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    357 

In  prisons  it  is  not  safe  for  a  guard  to  stop  and  rea- 
son why.  They  are  in  the  position  of  a  lion  tamer  who 
knows  that  if  one  lion  among  a  cageful  made  docile  by 
cruel  mastery  attacks  him,  it  is  a  matter  of  only  a 
moment  before  they  will  all  be  tearing  him  limb  from 
limb.  Without  a  second's  warning,  therefore,  the 
guard  upon  the  platform  fired!  As  his  bullet  reached 
the  screaming  man's  leg  he  fell  in  a  limp  heap.  But 
afraid  to  stop  firing  the  guard  turned  his  revolver 
upon  the  others.  Shots  fell  thick  and  fast,  while  rely- 
ing for  their  own  safety  upon  their  armed  strength, 
every  one  of  the  guards  backed  toward  the  door. 

Judge  Sawyer  was  horrified.  So  this  was  one  of  the 
uprisings  in  prisons  which  the  public  heard  so  much 
about !  These  were  the  criminals  who  endangered  the 
guards'  lives! 

"Stop  that  firing!"  he  thundered,  his  big  voice  boom- 
ing out  above  the  melee  of  sullen  antagonized  men, 
now  pushing  and  shoving  each  other  as  they  strove 
to  escape  the  fusillade.  "You  shall  pay  for  this !" 

The  guards  thus  reminded  of  the  judge's  presence 
ceased  their  fire,  and  running  into  the  hall  banged  the 
steel  door. 

Judge  Sawyer  turned  to  the  men.  "Don't  be  nerv- 
ous," he  said.  "They'll  hardly  dare  attack  you 
again!" 

At  the  judge's  reassuring  words  and  manner  of  com- 
mand the  men  immediately  became  quieted.  For  some 
unaccountable  reason  apparently  no  one  had  been  hurt 
but  the  prisoner  lying  upon  the  floor.  His  companions 
now  gathered  about  him.  They  dared  not  speak,  but 
in  their  eyes  Judge  Sawyer  read  the  smouldering  spirit 
of  hatred  and  the  desire  to  kill  their  oppressors. 

Kneeling,  the  judge  raised  the  injured  man's  head. 
The  poor  fellow's  convulsion  had  passed  by  now,  and 


358     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

his  large  eyes  held  in  them  the  appeal  of  a  hurt  child's 
as  he  looked  up  at  the  judge. 

"I  went  bug-house,  I  reckon,"  he  whispered  in  the 
hoarse  silent  language.  "What's  the  matter  with  my 
leg?" 

"You've  been  hurt,"  the  judge  said  in  soothing  eva- 
sion. "Better  keep  still,  the  guards  have  probably 
gone  for  a  stretcher." 

Just  then  the  steel  door  to  the  tailor  shop  opened, 
and  the  scared  face  of  the  head  guard  peered  in. 
Seeing  that  the  "Riot"  had  been  quelled,  he  entered, 
followed  by  the  other  guards. 

"Form  in  line  there!"  he  commanded,  covering  the 
group  of  prisoners  with  his  gun.  "Forward,  march!" 

Silently  they  obeyed,  and  the  long  file  shuffled  across 
the  tailor  shop.  Judge  Sawyer  stood  still. 

"You  go  get  a  stretcher  at  once,"  he  said.  "This 
man's  hurt." 

Furiously  angry,  but  not  daring  to  show  it,  the  head 
guard  commanded  two  of  the  others  to  do'  as  the 
judge  suggested.  Quickly  returning  they  lifted  the 
injured  man,  and  assured  that  he  had  gained  his  point, 
the  judge  now  joined  the  prisoners  who  marched 
across  the  courtyard  and  back  to  their  cells.  Had  he 
known  that  the  injured  man  was  cast  into  the  rot-pit 
instead  of  the  healing  comfort  of  the  hospital,  he  could 
not  have  felt  the  immediate  return  of  interest  for  the 
blind  man  next  door  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

JUDGE  SAWYER  was  sitting  upon  the  side  of  his  cot, 
trying  in  vain  to  forget  the  distressing  experiences  in 
the  tailor  shop.  It  was  clear  to  him  that  he  must  not 
make  a  row  about  it  if  he  intended  to  stay  in  the  prison. 
If  such  a  thing  as  this  had  happened  before  his  very 
eyes,  what  must  be  the  condition  of  things  when  there 
was  no  restraining  presence!  It  was  his  duty  to  dis- 
cover everything  he  could  about  the  conduct  of  the 
institution.  Getting  up  he  began  tramping  back  and 
forth.  Presently  he  remembered  that  he  had  not  as 
yet  read  the  blind  man's  letter,  which  he  had  slipped 
up  his  sleeve  on  rinding  it  in  his  palm  that  morning. 
Taking  this  out  he  unfolded  it,  and  holding  it  up 
to  catch  the  dim  light,  began  to  read. 

"Dear  Judge,"  it  ran.  "  'A  prophet'  has  indeed  been 
sent  up  unto  us ;  for  yesterday  in  your  voice  I  read  the 
note  of  hope  for  this  city  of  the  living  dead. 

"From  this  cell,  the  only  place  on  earth  I  know  as 
home,  I,  a  man  without  a  country,  a  slave  of  his  worst 
self,  made  so  by  injustice  suffered  at  the  hands  of  those 
authorized  to  exercise  the  power  of  the  State,  but  still 
possessing  a  better  self  asleep  within  him,  now  pleads 
with  you  to  help  us,  and  will  try  to  show  you  how. 
The  officials  here  will  never  let  me  really  see  or  talk 
with  you,  rest  assured  of  that ;  and  so  I  take  this  means 
of  communication.  Old,  blind,  dying  of  tuberculosis, 
the  sand  in  my  hour-glass  is  running  low.  Soon  the 
darkness  of  my  last  resting  place,  as  typified  by  the 
sightlessness  I  now  know,  will  be  mine.  I  do  not  ask 
for  myself,  therefore,  but  for  those  who  will  suffer 
after  me,  that  something  be  done  to  rectify  conditions 
so  merciless  that  were  they  generally  known  in  their 

359 


360    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

actuality,  our  present  slavery  would  be  counted  by  the 
people  as  worse  than  death,  and  the  conditions  them- 
selves no  longer  tolerated! 

"I  have  hardly  dared  eat  or  drink  today.  Many 
men  have  succumbed  within  these  walls  on  less  provo- 
cation than  you  have  given  the  warden  and  his  tools 
by  your  request  to  be  placed  next  door  to  me.  Dead 
men  tell  no  tales!  But  I  am  not  afraid.  I  know  that, 
save  for  my  few  missteps,  I  have  not  dishonored  the 
Maker  in  whom  I  believe.  Lest  something  should 
happen  to  me,  however,  I  now  write  you  these  lines, 
hoping  that  the  thoughts  indulged  in  during  the  years 
of  suffering  which  I  have  endured,  may  in  some  way 
forward  the  work  I  feel  sure  you  have  been  called 
to  do." 

The  man's  pathetic  words  had  brought  a  lump  to 
Judge  Sawyer's  throat.  How  his  heart  ached  with 
sympathy  for  him! 

"On  Sunday  you  said  you  believed  that  if  the  right 
methods  were  employed  toward  us,  that  we  could 
become  law-abiding  citizens.  I  believe  that  you  are 
right.  I  have  been  thinking  for  years  of  the  means 
which  should  be  employed  to  accomplish  this;  and  so 
now  I  ask  you,  best  and  kindest  of  friends  to  the  zebra 
brotherhood,  is  it  right  that  God's  free  creatures  be 
caged  in  filth  and  degradation  ?  No  matter  what  their 
offense,  has  man  the  right  to  shut  them  out  from  even 
the  sight  of  God's  world,  their  birthright?  If  Society 
requires  their  restraint,  should  it  not  be  under  such 
conditions  that  at  the  end  of  their  day  of  toil  they  may 
be  able  to  refresh  their  spirits,  to  the  degree  that  in 
them  lies,  in  the  magic  gold  and  crimson  fairyland  of 
evening,  there  to  drink  deep  draughts  of  joy  and 
life? 

"Can  it  possibly  improve  a  man's  soul  to  see  eter- 
nally the  black  bars  of  hatred,  rather  than  to  see  from 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    361 

his  window  long  shadow  fingers  pointing  across  a  car- 
pet of  green  and  violet,  it  might  be  to  an  open  bay, 
sail-dotted?  Would  it  not  be  better  for  him,  and  so 
for  Society,  that  he  feel  the  soft  night-curtain  of 
silence  absolute  enfold  him,  instead  of  the  uttermost 
darkness  of  Tophet  which  reigns  in  his  cell,  wherein 
the  sounds  which  reach  him,  from  degraded  men  and 
guards  alike,  are  so  consistently  awful,  that  the  mem- 
ory of  the  thrush's  songs  which  were  wont  to  wake 
him  in  boyhood  seems  only  a  mockery  now? 

"If  he  could  arise  to  gaze  through  maiden  mists 
arising  Minerva-like  from  the  lacy  spray  of  waves 
across  blue  water — if  he  could  see  morning's  birth, 
and  realize  that  the  blush  with  which  she  greets  the 
sun's  kiss  is  a  prophecy  of  his  regeneration  into  a 
better  and  purer  man,  would  this  not  help  him  to  be 
so,  rather  than  to  have  the  nature-sounds  of  God's 
goodness  forever  shut  from  him,  and  in  their  stead 
only  the  hideous  strophes  and  anti-strophes  of  the 
grimy  spirit  of  darkest  crime? 

"Made  by  kindly  and  constructive  means  to  fully 
appreciate  the  iniquities  of  his  past,  would  it  not  help 
him  in  his  efforts  to  achieve  a  better  future  to  hear 
with  a  love-filled,  and  not  hate-filled,  soul  the  song 
of  nesting  birds?  To  scan  with  growing  understand- 
ing the  foam-flecked  sea  in  all  her  moods?  Watching 
the  blossoming  of  spring,  to  know  that  his  future 
could  be  full  of  life's  beauty  and  promise,  too?  And 
that  when  his  lessons  in  good  citizenship  were  learned, 
and  he  was  allowed  to  become  a  part  of  the  outside 
world  again,  to  be  assured  that  there  was  a  place  in  it 
for  him  to  work  and  learn  of  peace  as  deep  as  truth?" 

Judge  Sawyer  gasped.  Why,  the  man  had  a  remark- 
able mind !  His  thoughts  were  poetic,  almost  inspired. 
It  did  not  seem  possible  that  a  man  could  draw  such 
mental  pictures  when  shut  up  in  prison;  and  yet  he 


362    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

suspected  that  these  very  pictures  were  probably 
what  had  enabled  men  of  mentality  to  retain  their 
sanity.  He  read  on: 

"Those  of  you  who  are  still  citizens  of  the  United 
States  say  if  we  who  through  crime  have  lost  our 
citizenship  are  made  too  comfortable — if  our  regen- 
erating institutions — God  save  the  mark! — are  made 
too  attractive,  we  would  commit  crimes  in  order  to 
enter  prison.  Does  it  seem  likely  to  you  that  such  a 
thing  can  be  true?  Does  a  man  deliberately  contract 
tuberculosis  or  cancer  in  order  to  enter  a  place  where 
he  is  given  the  kind  care  of  a  magnificent  State  or 
Board  of  Charities?  Yet  the  situation  is  much  the 
same. 

"Of  course  I  am  speaking  of  men,  not  parasites  or 
degenerates — of  which  there  are  as  many  outside  as 
inside  of  prison.  Such  creatures  should  be  dealt  with 
apart  from  criminals,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
question.  I  speak  now  of  men  like  myself — men  who 
have  broken  one  or  more  actual  statutes  of  the  law. 
Understand,  I  am  not  excusing  their  or  my  acts.  Un- 
lawful acts  are  inexcusable.  But  men  are  men,  whether 
prisoners  or  freemen,  and  in  order  to  keep  discipline, 
promote  right  thinking  and  a  hope  of  an  uncriminal 
future,  they  must  be  treated  as  men. 

"Situate  your  prison  in  a  place  where  God  dwells, 
therefore,  not  in  a  barren  spot  where  the  destructive- 
ness  of  man  has  defaced  the  bosom  of  Mother  Earth. 
Beauty  is  truth,  and  truth  is  what  we  who  commit 
crime  have  lost  sight  of.  Nature  and  her  healing 
balm  of  beauty  is  bound  to  help  us.  I  repeat,  there- 
fore, build  your  prisons  in  the  open  country." 

Judge  Sawyer  in  wonderment  counted  the  ensuing 
pages.  Evidently,  he  thought  to  himself,  the  flood- 
gates of  the  man's  years  of  silence  had  been  opened, 
and  he  was  pouring  out  his  very  soul  in  an  effort  to 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     363 

express  the  thoughts  which  had  so  long  been  forming 
in  his  mind.  The  letter  with  its  scrawling  crooked 
lines  seemed  indeed  pathetic  to  the  judge.  He  recalled 
the  proud  sightless  face  he  had  seen  the  day  before. 
The  indomitable  will  and  spirit  which  shone  through 
this  blind  man's  every  word  made  him  determine  to 
reach  him  personally  as  soon  as  possible.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  continued  reading  his  letter : 

"An  adequate  prison  should  have  a  general  receiv- 
ing station.  In  charge  of  this  there  should  be  effi- 
cient medical,  surgical,  and  physiological  specialists  to 
examine  and  classify  the  incoming  men.  After  these 
men  are  classified,  they  should  be  sent  to  branch  pris- 
ons, where  the  maximum  of  efficiency  at  a  minimum 
expenditure  of  time  and  unprofitable  labor  shall  be 
produced.  The  present  system  does  not  benefit  either 
the  State,  Society,  or  the  prisoner  himself ;  and,  as  has 
been  conclusively  established,  absolutely  fails  as  a  de- 
terrent of  crime,  rather  inflaming  and  multiplying  the 
evil  it  pretends  to  heal. 

"One  of  these  branches  should  be  a  co-operative 
farm.  This  for  the  class  of  prisoners  who,  as,  for 
instance,  those  physically  sick,  need  that  kind  of  life 
to  revive  the  good  in  them.  For  those  who  have  a 
trade  there  should  be  shops  in  which  to  practice  that 
trade.  For  those  who  have  no  trade  there  should 
be  a  training  school  in  which  every  inmate  should  be 
required  to  learn  that  for  which  he  is  best  adapted. 
Governmental  contracts  pertaining  to  national  prepar- 
edness could  be  easily  given  to  such  institutions,  as  is 
done  in  Germany,  where  many  of  the  prisons  have  the 
exclusive  right  to  make  military  uniforms. 

"Pay  each  of  these  working  men  a  living  wage, 
part  of  the  wage  to  go  toward  retrieving  the  wrong 
which  he  had  done  his  fellows.  If  a  thief  steals  your 
purse,  does  it  help  you  any  to  lock  him  up  and,  with- 


out  giving  him  a  chance  to  pay  the  money  back,  be 
taxed  by  the  State  for  his  maintenance?  Would  not  it 
be  better  to  pay  that  man  for  his  labor,  have  him  repay 
you,  and  in  addition  be  able  to  continue  supporting 
his  family  at  home,  instead  of  making  a  pauper,  or 
worse,  of  his  wife,  and  criminals  of  his  children? 

"If  a  man  be  a  drunkard,  cure  him.  Drunkenness 
is  a  disease.  If  he  be  a  lunatic,  treat  him  as  a  lunatic. 
If  he  be  mentally  deficient  or  a  moral  degenerate,  keep 
him  segregated;  but  treat  him  decently,  and  in  some 
way  find  a  means  of  cultivating  any  good  traits  he  may 
possibly  possess. 

"Criminals  are  men  morally  sick.  Help  them  to 
help  themselves.  Warsaw  prison  and  others  like  it 
are  hives  of  revenge,  breeders  of  crime,  and  are  places 
of  and  for  lost  souls.  Make  your  new  prisons  hospitals 
and  vocational  and  industrial  schools,  with  a  govern- 
ing spirit  of  moral  inspiration  dominating  the  admin- 
istration. Have  the  men  under  military  control.  Teach 
them  military  tactics.  Drills  would  be  good  for  them 
physically,  and  through  them  they  would  learn  how 
to  obey,  to  observe  the  discipline  which  Society  re- 
quires of  all  its  members.  In  time  of  trouble  men  so 
drilled  would  be  of  great  help  to  their  country. 

"When  all  this  is  done  and  your  government  faces 
the  prison  problem  from  the  angle  of  pity  and  a  desire 
to  make  and  not  wwmake  future  citizens,  it  will  be  ap- 
proaching the  question  through  reason  and  not  preju- 
dice, through  love  and  not  hate.  Until  this  is  done  and 
the  State  ceases  to  punish  crime  by  itself  committing 
essential  crimes,  civilization  cannot  make  any  appre- 
ciable move  upward." 

Here  the  sentences  scrawled  off  the  last  sheet  of  the 
brown  wrapping  paper  which  was  crumpled  and  torn. 
The  judge  stood  up.  The  blind  man's  words  made 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    365 

him  feel  uplifted  and  inspired.     He  would  communi- 
cate with  him  through  the  wall  of  their  cells. 

He  knocked  upon  it.  Immediately  an  answering 
knock  reached  his  ears.  Oh,  if  he  only  knew  the  tick- 
tack  code  which  he  had  heard  the  night  before ! 

"I've  received  your  letter,"  the  judge  said,  his  lips 
pressed  close  against  a  crack  in  the  mortar  of  the 
wall. 

There  was  no  answer. 

He  tapped  again.  An  answering  tap  came  back  to 
him;  but  that  was  all.  Evidently  the  masonry  of  the 
walls  was  too  thick  to  allow  the  sound  of  words  to 
penetrate  them,  unless  spoken  very  loudly. 

He  went  to  his  barred  door.  He  could  at  least 
speak  through  that  and  be  heard  by  the  man  next 
door.  The  two  doors  were  necessarily  so  close  to- 
gether, owing  to  the  narrowness  of  each  of  the  cells, 
that  such  communication  must  surely  be  accomplished 
very  easily. 

"I  got  your  letter,"  he  repeated,  putting  his  hand 
to  one  side  of  his  mouth  so  as  to  throw  the  sound  of  his 
voice  sideways  and  into  the  other  cell,  "and  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

A  guard  strode  up.  "No  gassin',"  he  said.  "Pris- 
oners ain't  supposed  to  talk." 

Judge  Sawyer  frowned;  then  remembering  the  gos- 
sip about  the  guards  he  had  heard  outside  the  prison, 
he  said: 

"Now  look  here,  Bud,  I've  got  to  talk  to  that  blind 
man  next  door.  I've  got  no  'spondulics  in  my  jeans'," 
taking  a  whimsical  pride  and  delight  in  having  so 
quickly  caught  on  to  the  slang  of  the  prison,  and  feeling 
much  like  a  naughty  boy  as  he  used  it;  "but  I'll  see 
to  it  that  you  get  ten  dollars  that  is  in  the  office  safe 
in  my  name." 

The  guard  drew  away  with  an  air  of  well-feigned 


366    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

indignation.  He  was  one  of  the  warden's  trusty  lieu- 
tenants, and  no  commissioner  could  catch  him. 

"You  could  be  punished  for  that  there  offer,"  he 
said  with  dignity,  pretending  to  know  naught  of  the 
judge's  identity.  "Do  you  think  I'd  take  a  bribe? 
Not  much !  Though  being's  as  you're  new  at  this  here 
prison  game,  as  the  P.  K.  tells  me,  I  won't  report  you 
this  time,"  with  a  maudlin  show  of  kindliness. 

The  fellow's  part  had  been  exceedingly  well  played, 
but  Judge  Sawyer's  astuteness  was  too  keen  for  him 
to  be  entirely  fooled  by  it,  though  he  did  not  know,  of 
course,  just  how  much  knowledge  the  man  really  had. 
He  ceased  his  monetary  attempt  to  reach  the  blind 
man.  Some  other  way  would  doubtless  open  up  soon. 
He  knew  that  the  prisoners,  in  spite  of  all  rules  to  the 
contrary,  and  even  in  spite  of  any  possible  honest 
guard,  did  communicate  with  each  other  almost  any 
time  they  chose. 

Going  back  to  his  cot  the  judge  reseated  himself, 
and  once  (more  perused  the  remarkable  letter.  In  a 
very  few  moments  the  big  gong  that  announced  the 
mess  hour  boomed  out,  and  the  shuffling  sounds  of  life 
in  the  cell  block  began. 

The  bolts  flew  back,  and  opening  his  door  he  stepped 
into  the  hall.  He  looked  around  to  see  the  friendly 
face  of  the  fellow  who  that  morning  had  given  him 
the  blind  man's  letter;  but  in  his  place  stood  a  much 
smaller  man  with  a  face  seamed  and  scarred  by  dissi- 
pation and  disease.  Judge  Sawyer  instinctively  turned 
his  head  forward.  He  felt  that  this  man  could  not  be 
trusted.  He  wondered  where  his  friend  of  the  morn- 
ing was ! 

After  a  silent  meal  the  men  were  all  marched  back 
to  their  respective  cells  again.  As  each  man  ap- 
proached and  stopped  in  front  of  his  own  particular 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    367 

cell,  the  judge  noticed  the  fellow  whose  face  he  had 
so  mistrusted  stop  at  the  cell  next  door  to  his. 

In  spite  of  all  the  silence  about  him  and  the  sense 
of  cowering  fear  which  it  gave  to  the  whole  atmos- 
phere, Judge  Sawyer  had  not  yet  learned  his  lesson. 

"What  are  you  doing  going  into  that  cell?"  he 
asked  the  man.  "A  blind  man  belongs  in  there." 

The  prisoner  questioned  did  not  answer ;  but  a  guard, 
hearing  the  sound  of  Judge  Sawyer's  voice,  marched 
up. 

"Here,  there,"  he  said,  "no  gassin'  allowed,  I  tell 
you!" 

But  by  now  the  judge's  suspicions  had  been  thor- 
oughly aroused.  It  was  very  queer,  he  thought,  not 
only  that  he  had  not  seen  or  heard  anything  of  the 
blind  man  since  his  own  incarceration,  but  it  was 
still  more  strange  that  new  and  hitherto  unseen  pris- 
oners had  marched  behind  him  both  times  that  he  had 
left  his  own  cell  that  day.  Something  was  wrong! 

"Where's  that  blind  man?"  he  asked  the  guard, 
as  all  the  prisoners  entered  their  doors,  which  clanged 
shut  behind  them.  "I  requested  especially  that  I  be  put 
next  door  to  BBXII,  I  think  that  is  his  number.  I'm 
I'm  anxious  to  talk  to  him." 

With  difficulty  the  guard  controlled  his  look  of 
amusement  at  the  judge's  expense. 

"He's  probably  dying,"  he  remarked  bluntly.  "He 
had  to  be  removed  to  the  hospital  to-day.  He  had  a 
hemorrhage." 

Judge  Sawyer's  heart  misgave  him  at  these  words. 
The  poor  pitiful  creature.  The  man's  remarkable  letter 
seemed  to  burn  him  as  it  lay  in  the  outer  pocket  of  his 
striped  coat.  Then  his  suspicion  being  still  further 
aroused,  he  commanded  the  guard : 

"You  go  get  the  warden.    I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

The  guard  again  controlled  his  look  of  amusement. 


and  taking  a  certain  delight  in  playing  his  role  of 
innocent  ignorance,  causing  perhaps  a  considerable 
degree  of  annoyance  to  this  crank  commissioner,  he 
said: 

"I'm  sorry,  Boss,  but  us  guards  ain't  supposed  to 
take  orders  from  prisoners.  We's  working  for  the 
state,"  and  he  walked  insolently  away. 

The  judge  in  his  growing  apprehension  and  anxiety 
for  the  man  whom  he  had  been  most  anxious  to  see 
and  learn  to  know,  now  lost  his  temper. 

"Look  here,"  he  called  after  the  guard,  "you  evi- 
dently don't  know  who  I  am.  I  demand  that  you  get 
the  warden.  I  won't  be  treated  this  way,"  and  he  felt 
his  face  flushing  violently. 

At  these  words  the  guard's  cat-like  humor  vanished, 
and  he  felt  afraid  to  play  with  his  mouse  any  longer. 
So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  warden  was  all-power- 
ful at  present,  but  politics  had  been  known  to  change. 
The  commissioner  was  very  highly  connected,  he 
understood,  and  with  a  good-natured  grin  he  returned 
to  Judge  Sawyer's  cell. 

"I'll  take  a  message  to  the  warden  for  you,"  he 
offered,  assuming  an  air  of  graciousness  that  sat  ill 
upon  him.  "Of  course  it's  against  the  rules;  but  I'll 
do  it,  being's  you're  new  at  the  game.  I  always  feel 
sorry  for  you  jail-birds." 

"Rules  be  hanged!"  the  judge  exclaimed  irritably. 
"You  go  tell  that  warden  that  I've  changed  my  mind, 
and  that  he's  got  to  let  me  out  of  this  place.  Double- 
quick,  too!" 

The  guard  took  himself  off.  Upon  his  face  there 
was  a  well-pleased,  gloating  expression.  So  he  had 
helped  his  master  to  frustrate  the  commissioner's 
plans!  He  was  indeed  to  be  congratulated.  It  would 
surely  mean  a  raise  in  salary  and  prison  perquisites  to 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    369 

him!  He  hurried  from  the  cell  block  to  the  warden's 
private  apartment. 

Judge  Sawyer  paced  up  and  down.  He  was  angry 
with  himself  now  for  determining  not  to  stick  to  the 
plan  which  he  had  first  adopted;  and  yet  he  honestly 
felt  in  his  present  mood  that  it  would  be  a  grave  mis- 
take to  do  so.  He  could  not  let  that  poor  blind  man 
die  without  what  few  personal  comforts  he  might  give 
him.  And  also  he  must  try  to  procure  at  least  a  little 
more  information  about  his  experiences  in  prison. 
His  letter  had  shown  that  his  point  of  view  was  not 
that  of  the  ordinary  prisoner,  but  rather  that  he  pos- 
sessed a  master-mind  which,  having  been  thrown  back 
upon  itself,  had  developed  a  keen  ability  to  look  into 
the  future  from  an  unbiased  standpoint. 

Judge  Sawyer  hated  to  disappoint  the  other  pris- 
oners. He  feared  that  to  abandon  his  plan  of  staying 
among  them  two  weeks  would  make  most  of  them 
lose  faith  in  him.  Yet  discretion  was  the  better  part 
of  valor.  He  must  give  up  his  former  scheme  and  be- 
gin to  work  along  the  lines  of  the  bigger  and  better 
plans  suggested  to  his  mind  by  the  blind  man's  letter. 

His  cell  door  opened.  "Well,  Commissioner,"  the 
warden's  well  modulated  voice  greeted  him.  "So  you 
want  to  see  me,  eh?  I  was  afraid  you'd  find  it  too 
hard!  The  effect  of  a  place  like  this  upon  a  man  of 
your  caliber  is  very  different  from  its  effect  upon  one 
of  the  criminal  class — a  class  entirely  apart  from  us 
and  our  ways  of  thinking.  Now  what  can  I  do  for 
you?  Want  to  be  released,  I  understand." 

Judge  Sawyer  found  it  difficult  to  retain  his  usual 
equanimity  of  manner.  How  he  would  like  to  tell  this 
fiend  in  human  form  exactly  what  he  thought  of  him! 
Instead  he  said  in  much  his  usual  voice : 

"Yes,  warden,  I've  had  enough  of  it.    I  must  bathe 


370    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

and  dress  at  once.  Something  important  has  called  me 
out." 

The  warden  exchanged  a  sinister  look  of  gratifica- 
tion with  the  guard,  and  then  leading  the  way,  escorted 
Judge  Sawyer  from  the  cell  block  and  on  out  until  they 
reached  the  warden's  apartments,  so  different  in  their 
sunlit  spaciousness  from  the  vile  holes  he  had  just 
been  in. 

As  Judge  Sawyer  bathed  and  dressed  his  mind  was 
full  of  plans  for  the  future,  and  into  his  eyes  had  come 
the  look  which  Marjory  had  so  often  seen. 

"Warden,"  he  said,  running  lightly  down  the  steps 
to  the  warden's  office,  where  that  gentleman  had  pre- 
ceded him  and  was  now  busy  at  his  desk,  "I'm  going 
over  to  the  hospital  to  see  that  blind  man.  Kindly 
get  one  of  your  men  to  pack  my  bag.  I'll  return  here 
for  it  in  a  few  moments." 

The  warden  almost  fell  out  of  his  desk  chair,  then 
scrambled  to  his  feet.  His  face  went  deadly  pale,  and 
his  hands  shook. 

Judge  Sawyer  watched  him,  understanding  that  he 
had  in  some  way  taken  him  unpleasantly  by  surprise. 

The  warden  swallowed  hard  two  or  three  times 
before  he  spoke.  By  now  a  deep  purple  hue  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  pallor.  Finally  he  controlled  his  voice 
enough  to  speak. 

"Why,  er — the  man  is  not  in  the  hospital,  Judge. 
The  truth  is— 

"He's  not  dead?"  Judge  Sawyer  broke  in,  alarmed 
at  the  warden's  manner,  and  at  once  recalling  the  pa- 
thetic words  of  number  BBXII'S  letter  coupled  with 
what  the  guard  had  told  him. 

The  warden  slowly  shook  his  head,  and  the  judge, 
regaining  his  assurance,  said  in  a  cold  voice  of  warn- 
ing: 

"Be  careful  what  you  say,  Warden.    In  spite  of  all 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     371 

you  did  to  keep  me  from  learning  anything,  I've 
learned  much!  Don't  add  a  lie  to  the  other  things  I 
know  about  you!" 

The  warden  staightened  up,  his  low-browed,  bully- 
ing face  assuming  a  look  of  indignation  which  fell 
quite  short  of  any  convincing  quality. 

"The  fellow  became  extremely  obstreperous  while 
you  were  in  the  tailor  shop  to-day,"  he  added  with  a 
great  show  of  holding  his  outraged  temper,  "and  we 
had  to  resort  to  the  punishment  cells." 

"And  /  was  told  he  was  dying  of  a  hemorrhage!" 
Judge  Sawyer  broke  in. 

The  warden  gave  a  start  in  spite  of  himself.  "Why, 
er — he  did  have  a  slight  passage  of  blood,  I  believe, 
but  it  was  only  from  anger.  He  is  quite  all  right ;  and 
so  strong  it  took  two  guards  to  hold  him!  He  was 
er — trying  to  injure  hilmself,"  the  warden  lied  glibly. 
"Such  desperadoes  as  he  is  often  resort  to  that.  We 
had  to  put  him  away  in  order  to  protect  him  from 
himself  as  well  as  to  protect  ourselves  from  him.  He's 
a  dangerous  and  vicious  man,  I  tell  you,  Commis- 
sioner." 

Judge  Sawyer  looked  skeptical  at  this  most  im- 
probable tale.  He  had  seen  the  man.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  believe  that  the  poor  emaciated  creature  had 
enough  strength  to  do  anything  except  shuffle  pain- 
fully across  the  courtyard.  But  holding  his  counsel 
the  judge  said: 

"Then  I  shall  go  there  to  speak  with  him.  Come 
on,"  and  he  made  for  the  door. 

Not,  however,  before  the  warden  had  managed  to 
convey  by  a  look  toward  one  of  the  guards  a  direc- 
tion that  he,  a  protection  ghoul  of  the  warden,  must 
reach  the  underground  punishment  cell  by  a  quick  route 
known  only  to  the  warden's  office,  while  the  warden 


372     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

himself,  accompanied  by  Judge  Sawyer,  reached  it  by 
well-planned  circumnavigation. 

The  guard  scurried  out  through  the  back  door,  and 
the  warden,  once  more  his  voluble  self,  led  Judge 
Sawyer  down  a  long  flight  of  steps,  in  and  out  and 
around  through  many  passageways  and  finally  down 
into  a  cellar  corridor. 

The  backs  of  two  guards  carrying  something  awk- 
wardly between  them  were  seen  disappearing  through 
a  door  at  the  opposite  end  as  Judge  Sawyer  approached 
the  punishment  cells;  but  in  his  eagerness  to  see  that 
the  blind  man  was  safe,  he  did  not  notice  this. 

Judge  Sawyer  and  the  warden  reached  a  sheet- 
iron  door  with  small  openings  at  the  top  and  bottom. 
The  warden  inserted  a  key.  Judge  Sawyer's  anger 
was  boiling  at  the  very  idea  that  a  sick  and  blind  man 
should  have  been  placed  in  such  a  hole,  and  had  opened 
his  lips  to  speak  when  a  guard,  stepping  up,  saluted 
them. 

"He's  been  took  out  of  there,  Warden,"  he  said  in  a 
voice  well  coached  in  seeming  courtesy.  "He  didn't 
stay  but  a  few  minutes.  The  P.  K.  was  afraid  it  might 
be  bad  for  his  condition,  so  he  taken  him  away  to  the 
hospital  this  morning." 

The  warden  gave  the  clever  guard  an  approving 
look  which  the  latter  quickly  translated  into  dollars 
and  cents. 

Throwing  the  door  open,  the  warden  showed  Judge 
Sawyer  that  the  cell  was  empty. 

"Well,  I  didn't  say  anything  before,  Warden,"  the 
judge  remarked,  "but  you  doubtless  know  what  I 
think !  I'm  glad  the  P.  K.  at  least  had  sense  and  com- 
passion enough  to  remove  him!  We  will  go  to  the 
hospital,"  and  turning  on  his  heel  Judge  Sawyer  led 
the  way  upstairs  again. 

By  first  one  pretext  and  then  another  the  warden 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    373 

delayed  the  journey  a  few  seconds  here  and  a  few  sec- 
onds there,  until  by  the  time  he  and  the  judge  had 
reached  the  hospital,  number  BBXII  lay  quietly  settled 
on  a  long  white  bed  near  the  door. 

Judge  Sawyer  went  up  to  him.  The  man's  head 
was  bandaged,  and  about  his  wrists  there  were  fresh 
strips  of  gauze  through  which  the  blood  was  slowly 
seeping. 

Judge  Sawyer  looked  at  him  critically.  He  was  in  a 
deep  stupor.  His  breath  came  in  labored  gasps.  Across 
the  pallid,  nobly  moulded  face  there  was,  as  the  judge 
thought,  the  shadow  of  the  cross.  Intense  sympathy 
sprang  to  the  judge's  eyes.  A  hand  was  laid  upon  his 
shoulder.  Quickly  glancing  about  he  saw  Chaplain 
Lewis  looking  at  him,  a  queer  expression  upon  his 
face.  It  was  strangely  convulsed,  and  yet  in  it  there 
had  blossomed  a  strength  of  purpose  which  had  de- 
stroyed its  usual  sensitive  reticence. 

"Judge  Sawyer/'  the  chaplain  said,  his  slender 
youthful  chin  taking  on  a  surprisingly  square  look, 
"there  has  been  foul  play  somewhere.  This  poor  man's 
wrists  show  he  has  recently  been  put  through  what  the 
demi-god  there,"  looking  boldly  toward  the  warden, 
"calls  'putting  the  fear  of  God  in  his  heart' !  I  don't 
know  what  the  poor  fellow  had  done;  but  he  is  blind 
and  ill  and  should  not  have  received  such  punishment. 
I  was  present  just  now  when  he  was  hustled  in  here. 
His  peaceful  sleep  is  the  result  of  this!"  and  the  chap- 
lain indignantly  produced  a  hypodermic  syringe  which 
had  been  dropped  upon  the  floor  in  the  hurry  of  prep- 
aration for  the  commissioner's  inspection. 

The  scene  that  ensued  was  long  to  be  remembered 
by  warden  and  guards  alike ;  and  when,  late  that  night, 
Judge  Sawyer  tiptoed  from  the  crude  hospital  room, 
it  was  to  leave  Dr.  Deever,  his  life-long  friend  for 


374     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

whom  he  had  telegraphed,  anxiously  bringing  the  poor 
wreck  upon  the  bed  back  to  life  and  consciousness. 

Public  opinion — the  entire  state  should  be  aroused! 
Steps  should  be  taken  to  destroy  forever  the  black  blot 
of  crime  which  had  for  so  long  been  represented  by 
Warsaw  Prison.  Judge  Sawyer  determined  he  would 
fight  the  warden  and  his  tools — would  fight  the  polit- 
ical ring  and  its  rottenness  and  would  awaken  the  lay- 
man and  his  justice  if  it  took  the  last  drop  of  blood 
in  his  body! 

He  boarded  the  train  for  Hampton. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

STANLEY,  upon  Deacon  Dennison's  identification  of 
him,  had  been  forced  not  only  to  cease  his  histrionic 
endeavors  to  convince  the  hospital  authorities  that  he 
still  suffered  from  aphasia,  but  with  no  display  of 
gentleness  or  sympathy  for  his  weakened  physical 
condition,  had  been  promptly  arrested  and  taken  to  the 
city  prison,  that  "devil's  antechamber"  in  Hampton. 

In  this  place  the  careless  carnival  of  filth  and  im- 
purity which  holds  sway  is  not  confined  to  permeating 
the  walls,  floors,  bunks,  and  the  entire  atmosphere,  but 
is  even  more  evident  in  the  unremitting  obscenities  of 
the  inmates,  whose  flippant  foulness  of  thought,  deed, 
and  speech  was  appalling.  It  was  an  old  scene  to 
Stanley.  He  had  been  in  the  New  York  Tombs  many 
times;  but  now  in  his  changed  mood,  wrought  by  the 
kindness  of  little  Miss  Coudaire,  Dr.  Deever,  and  even 
the  old  negro  who  had  continually  tried  to  amuse 
him,  this  prison  seemed  far  more  disorderly  than  any 
he  had  ever  known,  and  more  as  if  it  "embodied  the 
careless  civic  attitude  toward  growing  insanity  and 
crime."  A  half-way  house  between  respectability  and 
disgrace,  it  held  much  the  position  in  the  community 
of  a  jolly  ne'er-do-well.  It  was  the  missing  link  be- 
tween criminal  and  uncriminal  man,  as  judged  by 
Society. 

Instead  of  the  little  nurse's  kindly  ministrations, 
Stanley  now  received  the  attention  of  slovenly  minded 
subordinates  who  were  there  to  gather  the  harvest  of 
tips  which  they  extracted  from  high  and  low  alike. 
Theirs  was  not  a  serious  or  brutal  job,  but  rather  one 
where  a  livelihood  was  possible  without  any  danger  of 
overwork  or  anxiety — a  sort  of  a  major  graftship 

375 


376     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

which  was  passed  along  to  them  for  polling  services 
rendered  at  some  time  or  other  for  the  benefit  of  the 
virtuous  political  powers  that  be. 

A  city  prison  is  very  different  from  those  conducted 
by  the  state,  and  among  its  heterogeneous  mass  of  the 
gutter's  scum,  poor  dazed  foreigners,  men  of  culture, 
petty  thieves  and  the  like,  there  exists  a  freedom  of 
life  and  speech  which  is  entirely  absent  from  the 
latter.  Many  of  those  imprisoned  fully  expect  to  be 
released  long  before  the  time  comes  to  transfer  them 
to  a  more  permanent  place.  The  guards  have  little 
power,  and  so  physical  abuse  does  not  exist.  But  so 
low,  so  thoroughly  rotten  and  full  of  debasing  influ- 
ence is  the  whole  perditions  place,  that  self-complacent 
citizens  avoid  it  as  they  would  a  place  of  pestilence, 
yet  take  no  steps  to  eradicate  the  wholly  unnecessary 
evils  which  have  become  associated  with  it. 

Like  those  cases  in  the  courts  where  through  the 
interminable  postponements  and  delays,  secured 
through  technical  procedure,  a  plaintiff  will  starve 
before  justice  awards  him  his  dues,  so  Stanley  waited 
day  after  day  and  week  after  week  for  his  summons 
to  the  courtroom.  Finally,  after  more  than  a  year  had 
passed,  word  was  brought  to  him  one  day  that  the 
prosecuting  attorney  was  ready  to  take  up  his  case, 
and  that  it  had  been  put  upon  the  court  calendar  for 
the  following  week. 


The  trial  was  soon  over,  and  Stanley  with  an  in- 
creased bitterness  against  the  existing  social  order 
heard  himself  sentenced  to  State's  Prison,  the  next 
step,  and  the  highest  step,  in  his  curriculum  of  crime. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  that  he  would 
be  willing  to  suffer  self-annihilation.  During  his  months 
in  this  city  prison  he  had  acquired  a  lesson  which  all 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    377 

the  other  institutions  of  which  he  had  been  a  part  had 
by  chance  failed  to  teach  him — that  of  resorting  to 
drugs. 

Prisoners  consigned  to  the  Hampton  Prison  are  al- 
lowed to  keep  whatever  personal  property  they  have, 
and  so  during  recreation  hours  spent  in  the  courtyard 
and  hallways,  Stanley  practiced  upon  his  fellow  pris- 
oners the  only  profession  he  knew.  He  soon  possessed 
enough  money  to  enable  him  to  enter  the  arms  of 
Morpheus  in  poppy  fields  of  slumber  where  rosy 
dreams  come  true — until  the  awakening! 

It  was  after  his  trial  and  during  his  last  night  in 
this  place  that  Stanley  attempted  to  cheat  the  state 
of  one  of  its  future  slaves  by  the  administering  of  an 
overdose  of  this  Elixir  of  Death.  But  the  stars  in  their 
courses  had  reserved  something  better  for  him,  and 
the  next  day,  in  spite  of  his  struggles,  Stanley  found 
himself  upon  the  train  bound  for  Warsaw  Prison,  sen- 
tenced for  his  attack  upon  the  Frenchman. 

As  he  looked  out  of  the  car  window  he  recalled  those 
other  journeys  he  had  taken  for  a  like  purpose.  In 
memory  he  went  over  a  journey  of  many  years  before, 
in  which  he  had  seen  the  beautiful  forest  world  for  the 
first  time.  As  if  in  a  dream  he  now  saw  again  that 
village  of  cosy  houses,  sparkling  golden  pink  stream, 
and  flashing  birds.  Once  again  the  air  seemed  filled 
with  the  hope  and  love  of  their  rollicking  song — but 
almost  before  he  knew  it  he  was  inside  of  that  black 
wagon  with  its  grated  door — he  had  reached  a  big 
bare  building — he  was  in  its  dungeon,  the  strait- jacket 
crushing  out  his  very  life.  The  scene  changed.  The 
daily  routine  of  the  Reformatory  passed  in  hideous 
detail  before  him ;  but  from  this  picture,  too,  his  char- 
acteristic of  hope  had  soon  drawn  him.  He  was  out 
in  the  world,  a  free  man.  His  heart  was  full  of  ten- 
derness for  the  lad  who  was  less  fortunate  than  him- 


378     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

self.  He  would  rescue  him.  Together  they  would  be 
happy 

A  dark  figure  followed  him — persecution,  protected 
by  law,  surrounded  him.  Then  came  the  wild  night 
of  his  experience  in  the  saloon,  and  after  that 

Even  now  in  memory  the  sweet  kindliness  of  Miss 
Coudaire's  smile  interrupted  his  revery  and  warmed 
his  heart.  The  little  round  doctor  with  his  beneficent 
eyes  seemed  a  prophecy  of  good;  and  yet 

He  was  going  back  to  prison.  Sunk  lower  than  ever, 
degraded  utterly  by  the  additional  mastery  which 
opium  now  had  over  him,  he  was  going  back  to  an 
existence  worse  than  death. 


"Right  in  here,"  a  pleasant  voiced  young  man  in  a 
dark  gray  uniform  said  to  Stanley  as  he  stepped  from 
the  automobile  in  which  he  had  come  from  the  station. 
"Your  case  will  be  attended  to  in  just  a  moment,"  and 
leaving  behind  them  the  guard  who  had  accompanied 
him  from  the  city,  the  uniformed  official  led  Stanley 
into  a  big  cheery  room,  just  off  from  an  office  which 
looked  like  that  of  a  hotel. 

The  young  official  softly  closed  the  door,  and  Stan- 
ley found  himself  quite  alone,  except  for  an  elderly 
gentleman  seated  at  a  big  comfortable  desk  piled  high 
with  papers.  This  person  had  not  raised  his  eyes 
at  his  entrance,  but  had  continued  to  write,  folding, 
and  then  neatly  piling  together  many  stacks  of  letters. 

Stanley  stared  about,  nonplussed.  What  in  the 
world  did  it  mean?  Where  was  he?  He  seated  him- 
self and  waited;  but  his  gaze  roved  curiously  about 
the  sunlit  apartment  which  overlooked  a  garden  full 
of  bloom  on  the  south,  and  a  wide  grass-grown  court 
on  the  north.  Why  had  he,  a  prisoner,  been  brought 
to  a  place  like  this?  There  must  be  some  mistake. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     379 

He  was  supposed  to  have  been  on  his  way  to  prison. 
He  felt  the  whole  world  whirling  about  him  at  the 
queer  inexplicable  situation  in  which  he  now  found 
himself.  He  recalled  what  he  had  heard  about  the 
eventual  effects  of  the  drug  he  had  been  taking.  Per- 
haps that  was  the  explanation — this  was  only  a  drug- 
dream,  an  hallucination! 

But  no,  he  realized  that  the  effects  of  the  drug  had 
begun  to  wear  off.  He  felt  sick  and  nervous  because 
of  the  lack  of  it. 

There  were  many  windows  in  the  room,  with  boxes 
of  growing  plants  beneath.  Ranged  along  all  four  of 
its  sides,  against  restfully  tinted  walls,  were  clean 
shelves  of  books.  Above  these  there  were  rich-toned 
pictures  of  woods  and  fields  which  made  one  feel  the 
very  breath  of  spring. 

Stanley  stirred  in  his  chair.  A  discomfort  such  as 
he  had  never  known  took  possession  of  him.  He  felt 
much  as  a  rodent  burrowing  in  the  dark  would  feel 
if  it  were  suddenly  confronted  with  a  blinding  ray  of 
sunlight.  Fascinated,  his  eyes  would  not  stay  down- 
cast upon  his  shabby  knees  as  he  tried  to  make  them 
do.  There  was  something  about  the  room  which 
caught  and  held  his  attention  in  spite  of  his  feeling  of 
awkwardness  and  perturbation.  Unaccustomed  as  he 
had  been  during  his  entire  life  to  anything  even  re- 
motely approaching  attractive  surroundings,  this  neat 
and  simple  room  seemed  palatial  indeed. 

Presently  a  sound  of  tramping  feet  reached  him 
from  outside  one  of  the  open  windows  at  which  white 
curtains  blew  gently  to  and  fro  in  the  soft  May  air. 
Tramp,  tramp,  went  dozens  of  feet.  A  military  com- 
mand reached  his  ears;  and  then  as  a  full  brass  band 
filled  the  air  with  martial  music,  wheeling  from  the 
shadow  of  the  house  and  swiftly  attaining  the  court- 
yard there  marched  into  view  battalion  after  battalion 


380     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

of  men.  Stanley  could  see  that  they  were  dressed  in 
a  trim  uniform  of  dark  gray,  their  bright  buttons 
catching  and  reflecting  the  sinking  sun  as  they  wheeled, 
halted,  dropped  arms,  and  then  came  to  attention,  a 
long  splendid  line  of  them. 

The  elderly  gentleman  at  the  desk  rose  and  ap- 
proached Stanley. 

"They  drill  very  well,  don't  they?"  he  said  pleas- 
antly, turning  his  eyes  toward  the  window. 

Stanley  stood  up  and  looked  in  the  direction  of  the 
cadets,  and  though  the  other  gave  him  a  keen  sweep- 
ing glance,  when  Stanley  again  looked  at  him  his 
gaze  had  apparently  continued  fastened  upon  the  men 
outside. 

Stanley  put  a  shaking  hand  to  his  head.  Had  the 
drug  really  proven  traitor  instead  of  friend  at  last? 
A  violent  trembling  seized  him.  The  scene  was  bound 
to  be  an  hallucination!  Through  white  lips  he  man- 
aged to  speak: 

"Where  am  I?"  he  asked  hoarsely,  a  terrific  long- 
ing for  the  drug  sweeping  over  him.  In  spite  of  its 
treacherous  dealings  he  must  procure  a  dose  at  once, 
or  he  would  go  mad,  sure  enough,  raving  mad !  "For 
God's  sake,  tell  me  where  I  am?"  he  repeated,  his  eyes 
rolling  wildly. 

Judge  Sawyer  laid  a  kindly  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"You  are  in  Warsaw  prison,"  he  answered.  I  am 
Warden  Sawyer.  And  you?" 

Stanley  collapsed  into  a  chair,  his  eyes  set,  his 
lips  working  horribly.  So  it  was  true.  The  drug  was 
playing  him  false !  Nevertheless  he  must  have  more 
in  order  to  withstand  the  shock. 

"Morphine,"  he  whispered.  "For  God's  sake! 
Quick!" 

Judge  Sawyer  understood  the  request  perfectly.  He 
received  each  day  many  such  wrecks  as  this  poor  youth 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     381 

before  him.  He  had  learned  through  experience  that 
such  cases  must  be  handled  scientifically.  He  rang  a 
bell.  The  uniformed  official  who  had  conducted  Stan- 
ley into  the  room  appeared. 

"One  of  the  internes,  quick !"  he  commanded.  "Mor- 
phine case.  Collapse.  Hurry !"  and  he  bent  over  Stan- 
ley's bowed  and  shaking  body. 

"Everything  will  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  he  en- 
couraged. "I've  sent  for  the  drug." 

"A  young  physician,  also  in  uniform,  now  entered 
the  room.  Deftly  rolling  up  Stanley's  sleeve  he  ad- 
ministered a  hypodermic  injection  of  that -which  had 
become  as  necessay  as  air  to  Stanley. 

Soon  the  drug  began  to  have  its  desired  effect.  The 
patient's  eyes  lost  their  look  of  wildness.  His  hands 
relaxed  their  rigidity,  and  a  half  smile  parted  his  still 
trembling  lips. 

Warden  Sawyer  did  not  speak,  but  stood  waiting 
until  such  time  as  the  man's  nerves  were  under  con- 
trol. He  knew  exactly  what  was  going  through  the 
young  man's  mind — he  had  seen  so  many,  many  like 
him  during  the  past  year  and  a  quarter  since  he  had 
managed  to  expose  the  rottenness  of  Warsaw  Prison 
and  put  it  upon  the  sound  basis  of  a  humanitarian 
institution.  Those  like  Stanley  coming  to  the  prison 
with  the  expectation  of  meeting  with  the  usual  cruel 
and  unjust  reception  tendered  in  the  vast  majority 
of  prisons,  were  invariably  unnerved  at  first  by  Judge 
Sawyer's  new  method. 

When  the  dose  of  morphine  had  temporarily  re- 
stored Stanley's  habitual  air  of  indifference  to  his  sur- 
roundings he  exclaimed  to  the  elderly  gentleman 
standing  before  him : 

"Say,  what  you  giving  us?  I  know  this  ain't  a 
prison." 

Judge  Sawyer's  keen  eyes  had  seen  the  compara- 


382     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

tively  freshly  healed  scar  upon  Stanley's  forehead — 
he  could  guess  almost  to  the  last  detail  the  poor  fel- 
low's recent  career,  he  was  so  exactly  like  hundreds 
of  others.  So  now  he  felt  he  could  venture  a  move 
toward  gaining  Stanley's  confidence.  It  was  one  of 
his  pet  theories  that  incoming  prisoners  must  not  be 
questioned  in  the  old  diabolical  manner  as  to  their  age, 
name,  parentage,  former  crimes,  and  the  number  of 
times  they  had  served  sentence.  He  felt  that  their 
stories  should  be  gotten  out  of  them  by  a  more  friendly 
and  gradual  process.  By  showing  sympathy  and 
understanding  he  usually  succeeded  eventually  in  get- 
ting the  truth. 

"Of  course  you  know  Warsaw  isn't  what  it  used  to 
be,"  he  said.  "We  are  conducting  it  more  upon  the 
lines  of  a  hospital " 

He  saw  Stanley's  eyes  brighten  at  these  words ;  and 
so  taking  his  cue  he  went  on: 

"I  can  see  you  have  been  feeling  pretty  rocky 
lately,  eh?  Head  got  smashed  up,  or  something,  didn't 
it?  Too  bad.  I'm  sorry — I  had  the  same  luck  once," 
and  he  pointed  to  a  few  faint  scars  upon  his  forehead. 
"What  hospital  were  you  in?" 

"North  End  Waterfront,"  Stanley  answered  before 
he  thought.  Criminals  are  ever  careful  not  to  tell  any- 
thing about  themselves,  not  even  those  things  which 
may  chance  to  be  to  their  credit.  So  far  as  their  own 
past  is  concerned,  they  consider  silence  golden. 

"They've  got  good  doctors  there,"  Judge  Sawyer 
remarked,  following  out  his  carefully  conceived 
method. 

Stanley's  expression  changed  but  little,  yet  there 
was  a  slightly  added  glow  in  his  eyes. 

"And  wonderful  nurses!"  Judge  Sawyer  went  on. 

This  time  he  got  the  result  for  which  he  had  been 
working.  Stanley's  whole  expression  changed.  Into 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    383 

the  emaciated  face,  with  its  good  yet  passive,  almost 
weak  features,  there  had  come  a  burning  light  of 
enthusiasm. 

So  the  young  man  had  appreciation,  Judge  Sawyer 
thought  approvingly  to  himself.  Deep  down  in  him, 
beneath  the  outward  crust  of  hardness,  or  its  equiv- 
alent, indifference,  which  a  life  of  crime  had  produced, 
his  was  a  nature  capable  of  gratitude  and  loyalty.  The 
judge  smiled. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "we  will  probably  have  to  put  you 
in  the  hospital  here  before  assigning  you  to  your 
eventual  position  among  us.  You  need  building  up. 
By  the  way,  what  name  shall  I  enter  you  under?" 

Judge  Sawyer  knew  the  young  man's  entire  history. 
He  insisted  that  the  names  of  incoming  prisoners,  along 
with  all  possible  penal  data,  be  reported  to  him  before 
their  arrival.  He  felt,  however,  that  asking  the  pris- 
oner the  details  of  the  history  of  his  life  was  an 
excellent  test  of  the  prisoner's  mental  and  moral  state. 
He  had  found  that  few  responded  to  him  truthfully 
at  first.  The  influence  of  the  old  regime  still  clung, 
and  in  spite  of  appearances,  they  could  not  at  once 
trust  this  reformed  way  of  accomplishing  results. 

Stanley  hesitated.  A  man  drawing  moral  power 
from  so  treacherous  a  thing  as  a  drug  seldom  has  char- 
acter enough  not  to  lie,  even  though  he  knows  that  it 
can  do  him  no  possible  good.  Liquor,  drugs,  lies  and 
crime  are  children  of  the  same  parent.  Stanley  did  not 
want  to  tell  his  real  name,  and  yet  there  was  something 
in  this  man's  face,  something  in  his  compelling  eyes, 
which  made  him  answer  truthfully. 

"My  name  was  Stanley,  that's  all,  till  I  got  out  of 
the  orphan  asylum.  Then  I  took  the  name  of  Stanley 
Gray." 

Judge  Sawyer  made  a  mental  note  of  this  until 
such  time  as  he  could  enter  it  into  the  prison  register 


384     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

with  the  additional  commentary,  "parentage  un- 
known." Nine-tenths  of  Warsaw's  inmates  had  the 
same  words  after  their  names.  Judge  Sawyer  some- 
times thought  that  this  big  prison,  into  which  he  was 
throwing  all  his  energy,  was  only  a  vast  cauldron  into 
which  the  children  of  sin  were  sooner  or  later  cast  by 
the  prison's  original  founder  and  principal  feeder,  the 
orphanage. 

Breaking  into  his  own  thoughts  he  remarked  aloud : 
"I'm  sorry  to  see  you  feeling  so  badly,  Gray.  A 
young  man  of  your  age — twenty-one,  isn't  it?" 

"No,  nearly  twenty-four,"  Stanley  answered,  hard- 
ly realizing  he  had  done  so. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,"  the  judge  went  on,  hav- 
ing also  made  a  mental  note  of  this  statement,  "a 
young  man  of  your  age  should  be  as  robust  and  fine 
a  specimen  of  humanity  as  those  boys  out  there," 
pointing  out  the  window  to  the  battalions  who  were 
now  standing,  caps  held  upon  their  breasts,  in  an 
attitude  of  reverent  attention  as  the  "Star  Spangled 
Banner"  was  played  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes  were 
lowered  for  the  night. 

Stanley's  eyes  followed  the  judge's,  and  a  queer 
expression  passed  over  his  face.  Once  again  doubts 
assailed  him. 

"Say,"  he  said  in  his  old-time  manner  of  one  used 
to  being  persecuted,  and  trying  to  be  manly  through 
the  harassment,  "what  yer  kiddin'  me  this  way  for? 
I  don't  get  you.  Where  am  I,  anyhow  ?" 

Warden  Sawyer  turned  to  a  framed  list  of  names 
upon  the  wall,  at  the  top  of  which  was  printed  the 
words : 

"Fraternal  Welfare  Association  of  Warsaw  Prison." 

"Don't  you  see  I've  told  you  where  you  are?"  he 
said.  "I  would  not  lie  to  you." 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    385 

Stanley's  expression  did  not  change  at  his  words; 
but  again  looking  out  of  the  window  he  asked : 

"But  what's  that  moving  picture  army  out  there?" 
pointing  to  the  cadets  now  returning  the  way  they 
had  come.  I've  been  in  prison  all  my  life — that  is 
practically  all  my  life — Reform  School,  Reformatory, 
and  the  Pen,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Home,  and  I  never 
saw  anything  like  that  before  in  prison!" 

"No,  I'm  sorry  to  say  few  of  us  have,"  Judge 
Sawyer  agreed.  "But  we  shall!"  and  a  triumphant 
note  sounded  in  his  voice  while  his  eyes  seemed  to 
see  a  vision  afar  off.  "The  answer  to  your  question 
is  very  simple,  my  boy.  Warsaw  Prison  is  now  an 
institution  for  the  remaking  of  men.  We  have  the 
men  under  military  discipline  and  training.  This  room 
in  which  you  stand  is  the  warden's  office — my  office. 
Soon  you  will  be  taken  to  the  hospital.  We  now  use 
that  means  instead  of  a  dark  cell  for  a  receiving  sta- 
tion! The  greatest  physiologists,  psychologists,  crim- 
inologists,  as  well  as  neurologists,  of  the  state  will 
examine  you.  After  that  they  will  keep  you  under 
their  care  for  a  while  until  you  are  strong  and  well.  By 
that  time  all  of  us — who  are  your  friends  and  not  your 
enemies,  remember — will  see  to  it  that  you  are  taught 
to  do  the  thing  for  which  you  are  best  fitted.  After  you 
have  learned  a  trade  and  been  given  a  job  (for  War- 
saw has  done  away  with  the  old  slavery  system,  and 
pays  her  men,  making  them  in  turn  pay  their  outside 
debts ) ,  it  simply  rests  with  you  as  to  whether  you  stay 
a  criminal  or  become  a  man!" 

At  the  judge's  words  a  queer  sense  as  if  of  being 
drawn  out  of  himself,  of  being  carried  away,  went 
through  Stanley.  He  felt  excited  and  yet  comforted 
and  inspired  in  a  way  he  had  never  felt  before.  He 
longed  to  show  the  warden  what  his  kindness  meant 
to  him.  He  was  eager  to  commence  his  new  life  and 


386     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

try  to  prove  to  this  man  that  he  was  worthy  of  the 
trust  he  was  putting  in  him.  A  feeling  swept  over  him 
akin  to  that  which  he  had  known  only  once  before, 
that  of  his  affectionate  solicitude  for  the  hunchback; 
yet  even  now  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  realize 
the  reality  of  his  surroundings. 

Again  there  returned  to  his  mind  the  memory  of 
the  hope  which  had  filled  him  on  his  escape  from  the 
Home  of  His  Lost  Sheep.  Could  it  be  that  life  held 
for  him  any  possibility  of  good?  There  had  already 
fallen  to  his  lot  some  prophetic  happenings,  as  for  in- 
stance the  revelation  of  true  kindliness  in  the  tender 
ministrations  of  the  little  hospital  nurse !  Tears,  born 
of  weakness  and  the  shock  of  the  unforeseen  promise 
of  better  things  in  store  for  him  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

Judge  Sawyer,  seeing  that  Stanley  had  stood  about 
as  much  emotion  as  was  good  for  him,  said : 

"I  know  what  you  have  been  through,  my  boy.  I 
know  it  has  been  little  short  of  hell!  I  want  to  help 
you.  I  believe  in  you  and  want  you  to  become  one  of 
my  boys,  such  as  you  have  seen  drilling  out  there," 
waving  toward  the  window.  "You  have  wronged 
Society,  but  Society  has  wronged  you,  too.  Here  I  hope 
you  will  find  a  remedy  for  all  your  suffering."  Then 
turning  to  the  desk,  he  again  rang  for  an  official. 

"Maloney,"  he  said,  addressing  the  young  man  who 
now  entered,  "kindly  conduct  Stanley  Gray  to  Dr. 
Deever." 

"Yes,  Warden,"  he  answered,  saluting. 

Judge  Sawyer  again  turned  to  Stanley.  "Remem- 
ber what  I  have  said  to  you,  my  boy.  As  soon  as  Dr. 
Deever  consents,  I  will  see  you  again." 

Stanley  followed  his  guide  from  the  room  and 
Judge  Sawyer  returned  to  his  desk.  In  the  judge's 
eyes  there  burned  the  look  of  one  inspired ;  and  reseat- 
ing himself  he  resumed  the  task  of  sorting  his  mail. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     387 

A   sudden   thought   occurring   to   him,    however,   he 
jumped  up  and  stepped  to  the  door. 

"Maloney,"'  he  called  to  the  man  who  was  conduct- 
ing Stanley  down  the  sunny  hallway,  immaculate  in 
its  white  paint. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  replied,  coming  to  respectful  atten- 
tion at  the  warden's  summons. 

"Suppose  you  ask  Richard  Dennison  if  he  is  able  to 
take  this  young  man  to  Dr.  Deever.  I  need  you. 
You'll  find  him  in  the  roof  colony." 

"Yes,  Warden,"  Maloney  answered  saluting,  and 
motioning  Stanley  to  follow  him,  they  proceeded  down 
the  hall. 

Judge  Sawyer  returned  to  his  desk.  Yes,  that  was 
the  idea,  he  thought,  pleased  at  himself.  Richard  Den- 
nison was  decidedly  the  man  to  handle  this  special 
case.  Richard  Dennison  always  handled  the  warden's 
most  difficult  cases.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
blind  and  very  ill,  his  tremendous  strength  of  will  and 
defiant  determination  to  use  his  good  influence  in  the 
prison,  had  made  of  him  one  of  the  new  warden's 
most  trusted  and  valuable  helpmates.  The  judge  often 
thought  that  this  man,  who  had  suffered  so  terribly 
at  the  hands  of  the  State,  was  now  proving  himself 
of  more  worth  to  the  State  than  was  the  warden 
himself.  After  all,  it  had  been  Richard  Dennison's 
plan  which  had  been  accepted  for  the  remodeling  and 
reforming  of  Warsaw;  for  after  Judge  Sawyer  had 
discovered  him  that  night  in  the  prison  hospital  over  a 
year  ago,  things  had  moved  swiftly  for  them  both.  Hav- 
ing succeeded  in  arousing  the  people  to  a  realization 
of  the  disgrace  of  the  state's  principal  prison,  from  his 
own  purse  Judge  Sawyer  had  started  a  fund  for  a 
new  prison.  The  fund  had  attained  large  proportions 
almost  over  night,  and  the  state  authorities,  accepting 
this  aid,  had  added  the  necessary  appropriation  from 


388     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

the  state  treasury;  and  so  Judge  Sawyer's  dream  had 
quickly  gained  reality. 

Stanley  and  his  guide  entered  a  long  glassed-in 
pavilion  on  the  roof  of  and  running  the  entire  length 
of  the  great  building,  which  was  constructed  in  the 
shape  of  an  E.  On  either  side  of  this  pavilion,  with 
an  outlook  off  across  tilled  farmlands  succeeded  by 
woods,  there  were  rows  of  beds  in  which  lay  gaunt 
men,  many  of  them  too  ill  to  notice  Stanley  as  he 
passed. 

''These  are  our  tubercular  inmates,"  Maloney  in- 
formed him.  "Many  of  them  were  literally  dying  in 
dank  dark  cells  when  Warden  Sawyer  came  to  us." 

They  had  reached  the  farther  end  of  the  passage- 
way, and  were  about  to  descend  a  fight  of  iron  steps, 
when  Maloney  stopped  and  turned  back  to  meet  a 
tall  white-haired  man  whose  large  eyes  were  strangely 
wide  and  staring,  and  who  had  just  appeared  from 
the  central  wing  of  the  pavilion. 

Addressing  him  with  an  air  of  respectful  affection, 
Maloney  chatted  with  him  for  several  moments,  and 
then  handing  him  some  papers  from  his  pocket  they 
approached  Stanley  as  he  stood  by  the  stairway  rail. 

The  man  was  blind,  Stanley  noticed  with  a  pang  of 
sympathy ! 

"Stanley  Gray,"  Stanley's  companion  was  saying, 
"this  is  Richard  Dennison,  the  president  of  our  Fra- 
ternal Welfare  Association." 

The  blind  man  put  out  his  hand,  his  eyes  roving 
about  trying  to  focus  themselves  in  the  right  direction. 
"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  his  lips  smiling,  though  his 
eyes  were  strangely  stilled  and  saddened.  "I  believe 
our  warden  has  given  me  the  privilege  of  conducting 
you  through  the  prison  before  turning  you  over  to  Dr. 
Deever,"  and  his  face  lighted  up  at  the  reference  to 
both  these  men.  "It's  a  wonderful  place,  this  Warsaw 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     389 

Prison.  I  believe  it  will  revolutionize  the  whole  penal 
system !" 

Stanley  stood  speechless.  To  be  told  that  he  was 
to  be  guided  about  and  shown  the  prison  by  a  blind 
man  was  just  one  more  of  the  impossibilities  and 
absurdities  of  this  drug-dream  through  which  he  was 
so  evidently  passing.  An  impulse  to  test  his  own 
waking  state  by  a  shout  was  checked  only  by  his  in- 
nate sense  of  sympathy  for  the  man  before  him. 
Richard  Dennison's  hand  was  now  fumbling  along  the 
wall  in  an  endeavor  to  get  his  bearings ;  but  his  proudly 
held  head  and  splendid  face,  in  which  two  eyes,  as 
dauntless  as  ever,  looked  bravely  out  into  the  dark, 
was  turned  toward  Stanley  as  he  spoke. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful  to  see  those  fellows,"  he  said 
waving  off  in  the  direction  in  which  he  thought  his 
sick  companions  lay.  "And  just  to  think  how  they  used 
to  be  shut  up  in  filth  instead  of  in  this  God-given 
gift  of  sunlight  and  air.  Oh,  I  tell  you  we're  a  happy 
lot  of  fellows  since  Warden  Sawyer  came  to  us !  That 
man  has  meant  an  awful  lot  in  my  life  and — 
if  I  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  have  been  under 
his  guardianship  when  I  was  your  age — an  age  only 
a  few  years  more  than  that  at  which  I  made  my  first 
misstep,  well,  I  guess  I  would  not  have  to — fumble  for 
that  stair  rail  now.  Where  is  it  anyway?"  bravely 
smiling  and  feeling  out  until  he  finally  caught  at  the 
railing  by  Stanley's  side.  "Here  we  are,"  and  he 
rapidly  descended  the  stairs,  followed  by  Stanley,  the 
while  talking  in  an  animated,  happy  voice. 

From  one  window  after  another  of  the  corridors 
through  which  they  now  passed,  Stanley  was  shown 
the  various  points  of  interest — the  snug  little  cottages 
of  the  farmer-prisoners,  where  those  who  stood  high- 
est in  good  behavior  were  allowed  to  have  their  fami- 
lies come  to  visit  them  occasionally — the  big  machine 


390     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

shop  where  parts  of  governmental  guns  and  other 
mechanical  apparatus  were  made — the  pottery  works, 
the  electrical  plant — the  laboratory.  Down  near  the 
water's  edge  a  small  shipyard  might  be  seen,  a  busy 
hive  in  which  men  in  the  near  gray  uniform  of  this 
Spotless  Town  were  energetically  moving  about. 

Finally  Stanley  spoke :  "Say,"  he  said,  just  as  he 
had  said  to  the  warden,  "watcher  kiddin'  me  this 
way  for,  anyhow?  I  can't  get  you.  If  I'm  going  to  be 
sent  up,  why  don't  they  send  me  up  and  quit  this 
foolin'  ?" 

His  companion  paused  and  turned  his  inspired  face 
toward  him.  He,  too,  like  the  warden,  was  used  to 
disbeliefs  from  incoming  prisoners.  Being  himself  a 
prisoner  who  had  been  regenerated  through  the  judge's 
good  works,  he  was  now  one  of  the  new  type  of 
trusties  who  had  in  large  part  replaced  the  services 
of  men  hired  as  guards  by  the  State.  Warsaw  had  be- 
come a  self-governing  body  of  men,  where  those  who 
wished  might  rise  to  a  respected  and  useful  place  in 
the  government  of  the  prison.  Understanding  the 
mental  condition  which  was  now  induced  in  Stanley's 
mind,  used  as  it  evidently  had  been  to  the  old  idea  of 
punishment  rather  than  education  for  convicts,  he  did 
not  now  attempt  any  explanation.  He  had  found  that 
words  of  explanation  did  not  help  matters  much. 
If  he  was  dealing  with  old  timers,  as  in  Stanley's  case, 
a  few  weeks  of  the  new  prison  life  was  the  only  thing 
which  could  convince  a  prisoner  of  the  reality  of  the 
reform  which  had  swept  over  Warsaw  Prison.  So 
now  completely  ignoring  Stanley's  question,  he  led 
him  rapidly  through  another  corridor  and  into  one 
connecting  the  middle  wing  of  the  E  with  the  other 
wing. 

Then  he  spoke :  "Right  in  there,"  pointing  to  an 
open  door,  "is  our  school.  When  you  are  better  you'll 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     391 

doubtless  have  the  pleasure  of  studying  there.  We 
have  classes  from  the  first  grammar  school  grade  up 
through  the  entire  curriculum  of  high  school — a 
really  fine  course !" 

Stanley  looked  into  the  room  where  he  saw  many 
heads,  old  and  young  alike,  bent  eagerly  over  rows 
of  desks.  A  young  man  upon  the  platform,  dressed 
just  as  were  the  other  occupants  of  the  room,  was 
lecturing  to  the  assembly.  Stanley's  ear  caught  only 
a  few  of  his  sentences  before  they  passed  on. 

"And  so  it  is,"  he  was  saying,  "that  when  you  get 
out  of  here  and  go  to  farming,  you  will  find  that  soils 
of  different  sections,  or  in  different  parts  of  the  same 
section,  are  severally  adapted  to  the  propagation  of 
some  particular  product,  dependent  upon  the  propor- 
tions of  the  chemical  ingredients  which  they  respect- 
ively contain.  Therefore,  it  is  a  matter  of  the  first 
importance,  before  deciding  what  crop  you  should  at-1 
tempt  to  raise,  to  have  the  soil  of  your  farm  sub- 
jected to  chemical  analysis  for  the  purpose  of  ascer- 
taining what  crop  will  prove  most  profitable." 

Stanley  looked  in  utter  astonishment  at  his  guide, 
now  walking  ahead  of  him.  He  could  not  get  his 
bearings!  Was  this  strange  and  independent  blind 
man  who  walked  along  as  if  he  could  see,  telling  him 
the  truth?  Was  this  indeed  a  prison?  It  could  not 
be !  In  prisons  men  were  not  taught  what  to  do  when 
they  got  outside — not  except  in  the  manner  he  himself 
had  been  taught,  accidentally,  and  that  a  profession 
which  only  led  back  to  the  prison  again. 

But  his  puzzling  thoughts  were  cut  short.  "Here  we 
are  at  our  goal,"  he  heard  his  guide  say.  Passing 
through  a  double  glass  door  Stanley  found  him- 
self in  a  hospital  ward.  Through  this  he  was  led  into 
a  private  office  at  the  end.  Immediately  upon  their 
entrance  a  familiar  looking  little  man  dropped  some 


392    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

paraphernalia  he  had  been  working  with  and  stepped 
up  to  them. 

Stanley's  heart  quickened  as  he  recognized  him,  but 
he  made  no  move.  He  remembered  Dr.  Deever's  kind- 
ness to  him,  and  would  have  liked  to  have  spoken ;  but 
it  is  against  the  ethics  of  a  criminal  to  claim  friend- 
ship with  any  man  first.  Most  of  them  have  been 
fooled  too  often,  and  prefer  to  have  the  other  make 
the  advance. 

"Dr.  Deever,"  Richard  Dennison  said,  "I  have  a 
new  patient  for  you — Stanley  Gray.  The  warden  puts 
him  directly  in  your  care." 

The  little  doctor  put  out  his  hand,  greeting  Stanley 
with  a  few  words  and  with  a  kindly  manner  full  of 
personal  interest. 

In  his  surprise  Stanley  could  not  take  the  proffered 
hand,  but  stood  staring  at  the  man  before  him. 

Dr.  Deever  took  no  heed  of  this,  however,  and  pro- 
ceeding cheerfully,  said : 

"Glad  to  see  you.  Come  right  in  here,"  and  he 
led  the  way  to  a  small  office  off  from  the  first.  "You 
have  the  record,  I  suppose?"  turning  and  addressing 
the  blind  man. 

Richard  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"Good,"  the  little  doctor  exclaimed,  taking  the  prof- 
fered papers  and  reading  them. 

"Urn,"  he  said,  finishing  them  quickly.  "Too  bad." 
Then  again  looking  at  Stanley,  he  went  on  : 

"You  have  my  sympathy,  my  boy.  It's  a  bad  habit 
you  have  acquired ;  but  we'll  soon  get  you  so  you  won't 
need  old  Morpheus  any  more.  Won't  wej,  Presi- 
dent?" 

Richard  smiled.  "We  certainly  will,"  he  said  heart- 
ily. "Nothing  like  Dr.  Deever  here  for  putting  heart 
and  soul  and  health  into  you,"  and  feeling  out  he 
placed  his  hand  affectionately  upon  the  doctor's  shout- 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    393 

der.  Then  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  violent  coughing 
seized  him.  His  poor  blind  eyes  took  on  a  strained 
expression  which  was  dreadful  in  their  sightlessness, 
and  groping  out  he  caught  hold  of  and  desperately 
clung  to  the  back  of  a  chair,  his  breath  coming  in 
short  gasps  between  the  tearing,  racking  cough  which 
shook  his  emaciated  body. 

Across  Dr.  Deever's  face  there  passed  a  distressed 
and  alarmed  expression.  Gently  he  took  hold  of  the 
suffering  man  and  almost  bodily  lifted  him  into  an  easy 
chair  where,  the  paroxysm  having  soon  passed,  he  lay 
limp  and  white. 

Dr.  Deever  bent  over  him  anxiously,  his  hand  upon 
his  heart;  and  as  Richard  regained  a  little  of  his 
strength  which  had  left  him  at  the  convulsive  attack, 
Dr.  Deever  said,  taking  his  hand  in  his : 

"Now  look  here,  my  friend,  I  hate  to  preach,  but 
you  know  what  I've  told  you !  That  ambition  of  yours 
is  too  big  for  ypur  strength,  entirely  too  big.  You 
simply  must  not  do  so  much.  Neither  I,  nor  any  of 
the  rest  of  us,"  waving  toward  the  ward  in  a  compre- 
hensive gesture,  "can  possibly  be  responsible  for  your 
life  if  you  do !  You've  done  more  now  than  a  dozen 
ordinary  men." 

Richard  smiled,  then  broke  in :  "My  life,  you  know 
— the  little  that's  left  of  it,  is  for  the  boys  in  gray, 
Dr.  Deever.  What  other  good  is  it?"  and  a  bitter 
quality  momentarily  showed  itself  in  his  smile. 

"Your  life  is  worth  more  than  anybody's  in  the 
place!"  Dr.  Deever  exclaimed.  "You  must  know  that 
by  now.  Goodness,  man,  look  at  this  prison."  Then 
in  a  livelier  tone :  "I'll  put  you  to  bed  and  tie  you  in, 
if  you  don't  begin  to  obey  my  orders !  You  are  doing 
too  much.  And  now  I  want  you  to  go  back  and  lie 
right  out  in  the  sun  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

Richard  Dennison  rose,   put  his  hand  to  his  cap 


394     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

in  a  martial  salute,  his  big  eyes  looking  as  he  thought, 
estimating  direction  by  sound,  directly  into  those  of  his 
friend.  "All  right,  Captain,"  he  said  playfully.  "This 
is  your  ship,"  and  with  a  few  cheery  words  to  Stanley 
he  deftly  felt  his  way  from  the  room. 

There  were  tears  in  the  little  doctor's  eyes  as  he 
stood  watching  the  feeble  figure,  once  so  stalwart, 
bravely  making  its  way  down  the  ward,  greeted  on  all 
sides  by  the  patients  he  passed. 

Dr.  Deever  turned  back  to  Stanley.  "That's  the 
finest  man  I  ever  knew!"  he  exclaimed  heartily. 
"Inside  or  outside  of  prison!  I  hope  to  God  the 
warden  is  right,  and  that  there  are  many  such  as  he 
— but  I  doubt  it!" 

Stanley  had  witnessed  this  scene  in  silent  amaze- 
ment. He  felt  as  far  from  the  true  solution  of  the  situa- 
tion as  ever,  and  so  when  Dr.  Deever  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  him  once  more,  he  did  as  he  was  bidden  without 
the  slightest  show  of  interest  or  understanding. 

"Take  off  your  shirt,  please,  Gray,"  he  requested 
Stanley.  Then  something  familiar  about  the  youth's 
personality  striking  him,  he  said,  "Weren't  you  in  the 
North  End  Hospital  a  little  over  a  year  ago?" 

"Yes,  sir,"   Stanley  answered. 

"You  didn't  then  have  this — habit  the  warden  tells 
me  you  have  now,  did  you?" 

"No,  sir." 

Dr.  Deever  thought  deeply  for  several  moments. 
He  remembered  the  case  perfectly,  a  case  of  aphasia. 
So  this  case  had  resulted  as  many  did.  The  boy  who 
had  lost  his  identity  on  being  released  had  doubtless 
gotten  into  bad  company !  His  incarceration  in  State's 
Prison  was  the  result.  Dr.  Deever  recalled  what  he 
had  said  to  Miss  Coudaire  about  his  keeping  up  with 
and  befriending  this  youth.  He  had  failed.  After 
all  he  knew  of  the  fellow's  helplessness,  he  had  allowed 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     395 

his  urgent  call  to  Warsaw  and  his  ensuing  work  there 
to  erase  these  good  intentions  from  his  mind.  He 
blamed  himself  bitterly  for  Stanley's  present  condition. 
In  some  way  he  must  atone  to  this  poor  boy  for  the 
wrong  he  had  done  him. 

A  thorough  examination  of  Stanley  followed,  and 
almost  before  he  knew  what  had  happened  he  found 
himself  in  one  of  the  dozen  neat  white  beds  outside  in 
the  ward. 

Weeks  passed,  in  which  the  patient  was  led  through 
the  very  doors  of  purgatory  in  order  to  rid  him  of  the 
enemy  which  had  so  sapped  his  will  and  strength ;  but 
when  the  end  of  the  heroic  anti-drug  treatment  came, 
Stanley  found  that  he  was  stronger  and  more  vigorous 
than  he  had  ever  felt  before. 

During  the  days  of  Stanley's  illness  the  blind  man 
had  sat  much  by  his  bedside.  The  queer  silent  youth  had 
aroused  Richard  Dennison's  interest  and  attracted  him 
greatly.  In  most  instances  in  talking  to  men  like  Stan- 
ley, Richard  had  found  one  of  two  things  existing  in 
their  minds:  Either  they  possessed  a  deep  and  ex- 
pressed feeling  of  bitterness  against  the  law  and  all 
things  pertaining  to  its  so-called  course  of  justice,  or 
they  had  a  maudlin  and  sentimental  manner  of  often- 
times repeating  their  desire  for  reformation,  simply 
and  solely  because  of  the  kind  treatment  received  at  his 
hands.  But  not  so  Stanley  Gray.  Silently  keeping  his 
own  counsel,  he  gave  little  response  to  either  Richard 
Dennison,  Dr.  Deever,  or  Warden  Sawyer,  who  each 
in  turn  had  given  him  a  great  deal  of  their  time  and 
attention. 

Many  councils  were  held  over  him  by  these  three 
indefatigable  reformers,  and  every  good  influence  in 
the  prison  was  brought  to  bear  upon  him.  Long  before 
he  could  be  allowed  out  of  the  watchful  care  of  one 
of  the  specialists  who  was  studying  his  case,  he  had 


396    THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

been  taken  into  the  horticultural  garden  which  he  had 
noticed  from  the  window  of  the  warden's  office.  Then 
this  silent  and  diffident  newcomer  had  been  shown  the 
different  educational  and  industrial  advantages  of  the 
new  Warsaw  at  close  range ;  but  never  had  there  been 
any  appreciable  response  from  him.  One  day,  however, 
when  he  and  the  blind  man,  under  the  guidance  of  one 
of  the  physicians,  had  walked  through  the  strip  of 
woodland  which  in  its  virgin  beauty  lay  just  beyond 
the  tilled  farms  within  the  prison's  township,  Stan- 
ley's whole  being  had  brightened.  A  glow  coming  into 
his  sallow  cheeks,  over  his  face  there  slowly  spread  an 
expression  which  no  one  save  little  Miss  Coudaire  had 
ever  seen.  Richard  Dennison  had  asked  Stanley  to  be 
eyes  for  him  during  his  walk,  and  much  to  his  and 
the  psychologist's  surprise  and  delight,  they  had  found 
by  Stanley's  answers  that  the  youth  had  a  real  and 
reverential  love  for  the  great  out-of-doors. 

Richard's  heart  recalled  the  joy  his  own  youth 
had  taken  in  nature's  freedom,  and  felt  a  renewed 
and  ever  increasing  interest  in  the  boy's  eventual 
reformation;  while  the  psychologist,  thinking  oi  it  en- 
tirely from  the  scientific  standpoint,  began  planning 
some  scheme  whereby  this  good  point  in  Stanley's 
make-up  might  be  used  as  a  base  to  build  upon  for  his 
ethical  development. 

But  try  as  he  might  during  the  several  months  which 
now  quickly  passed,  it  seemed  impossible  for  any  one 
to  actually  find  out  the  state  of  Stanley's  spiritual 
growth,  for  though  he  was  perfectly  manageable,  and 
always  well  behaved,  having  been  put  at  several  minor 
trades  and  mastering  them  quickly,  he  showed  real 
enthusiasm  upon  but  one  subject,  and  even  in  that 
his  reticence  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  express 
himself — he  had  become  absolutely  devoted  to  his 
blind  friend.  The  warden  had  gained  his  admiration 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN    397 

and  affection,  as  had  Dr.  Deever  also;  but  it  was  for 
Richard  Dennison  that  his  face  lighted,  and  it  was  for 
him  that  his  mind,  which  was  still  chaotic  from  its  at- 
tempt to  adjust  itself  to  the  new  conditions,  threw  all 
its  prejudices  aside  and  responded  with  a  warmth  of 
love  which  the  youth  himself  was  pathetically  unable  to 
express  in  word  or  deed. 

It  was  not  long  before  Dennison,  having  failed  to 
heed  Dr.  Deever's  warning,  found  he  was  unable  to 
arise  from  his  white  bed  upon  the  roof  and  go  about 
the  prison.  His  strength,  in  spite  of  his  determination 
not  to  give  up,  seemed  to  be  fast  slipping  away.  After 
the  slightest  effort  the  dreaded  paroxysms  of  cough- 
ing shook  his  frail  body,  and  so  he  found  that  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  stay  very  quiet.  In  consequence 
Stanley  spent  most  of  his  spare  time  at  the  man's 
bedside. 

One  day  after  Warden  Sawyer  had  been  worrying 
particularly  about  his  old  friend's  state  of  health,  he 
came  across  a  book  and  a  letter  directed  in  the  same 
handwriting  among  the  piled-up  mail  upon  his  desk. 
Opening  the  letter,  an  expression  of  affectionate  admi- 
ration gleamed  in  his  eyes  as  he  read  its  lines. 

"Dearest  and  oldest  of  friends,"  the  letter  began. 
"I've  completed  the  new  book.  After  my  inspirational 
conversation  with  you  last  fall  and  your  many  won- 
derful letters  since  you  began  your  present  work,  I 
have  felt  it  my  duty  to  tell  the  world  the  'story  of  my 
life/  as  it  were.  Truly  I  feel  I  was  so  despicable  in  my 
course  with  respect  to  my  husband,  the  memory  of 
whose  love  for  me  is  my  greatest  treasure  and  re- 
proach, that  I  would  go  through  anything  now  to  re- 
deem my  conduct.  Of  course  the  real  story  is  covered 
by  a  fiction  plot,  but  perhaps  its  moral  may  in  some 
way  reach  other  wives  and  mothers  situated  much  as 
I  was  situated  then,  and  make  them  think — before  it 


398     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

is  too  late!  Affectionately,  Marjory  Matthews  (Rich- 
ardson)." 

Judge  Sawyer  untied  the  dainty  book  of  "Letters." 
Tears  were  in  his  eyes. 

"Poor  child,"  he  murmured.  "If  only  I  could  have 
found  those  records  for  her!"  And  then  opening  the 
small  volume  he  perused  its  pages  with  an  ever  grow- 
ing interest. 

As  he  finished  the  pathetic  story  it  told  and  laid  the 
volume  down  he  was  conscious  of  some  one  stand- 
ing at  his  elbow.  Looking  up  he  saw  Stanley  Gray 
gazing  at  him,  his  face  full  of  the  light  which  shone 
from  it  when  he  spoke  of  the  man  he  loved. 

"Warden,"  he  said,  his  words  coming  with  an  ef- 
fort in  his  evident  embarrassment,  "now  that  my 
reading  has  improved,  don't  you  think — couldn't  I — 
wouldn't  it  be  kind  of  nice  to  surprise  Mr.  Dennison 
by  reading  something  out  loud  to  him?  He's  pretty 
discouraged  to-day." 

The  warden  jumped  from  his  chair  in  enthusiasm. 
He  was  more  delighted  than  he  could  possibly  say  by 
the  youth's  offer,  showing  as  it  did  his  desire  to  be 
helpful. 

"It  certainly  would  be  nice,  my  boy,"  he  said  enthu- 
siastically. "Here,  take  this  little  book,"  handing 
him  Marjory's  volume.  "It's  exquisite,  and  Richard 
would  like  it,  though  it's  a  little  sad.  Good  luck  to 
you!"  and  with  his  optimistic  eyes,  which  had  started 
so  many  discouraged  men  on  the  road  to  lasting  hap- 
piness, he  watched  Stanley  who,  flushing  like  a  pleased 
schoolboy,  left  the  room  with  the  volume  beneath 
his  arm. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

FUMBLING  awkwardly  out,  Richard  Dennison  grasped 
one  of  Stanley's  hands  and,  holding  it  tightly  in  his, 
said  hoarsely,  his  voice  shaking: 

"Read — read  that  over  again — that  last  paragraph." 

Stanley  read  the  last  few  lines  of  Marjory's  book 
in  his  stumbling  and  uncertain,  yet  earnest,  manner. 

"And  so  it  is,"  they  ran,  "Son  o'  mine,  that  in  these 
letters  I  have  tried  to  tell  you  that  because  your  mother 
was  a  thoughtless,  frivolous  woman,  the  man  she  loves 
was  forced  to  leave  you  and  me  for — God  alone  knows 
where !  Each  night  I  have  prayed  that  if  he  is  living, 
happiness  may  have  come  to  him.  Through  all  these 
years  I  have  looked  and  longed  for  him,  but  in  vain. 
In  my  heart  cheri,  I  now  know  that  he  was  no  more 
guilty  than  I.  It  was  for  me  that  he  committed  the 
wrong;  and  it  was  my  most  culpable  conduct  that  in- 
duced him  to  do  it.  I  tell  you  this  from  the  agony 
of  remorse  that  grips  my  last  hours.  I  realize  that  I 
have  never  known  until  very  lately  what  life  and  an 
appreciation  of  its  true  values  might  have  meant  to  us 
both.  Seated  at  my  window  I  look  off  across  blue 
waters.  I  see  the  sun  sail  low.  It  sinks  behind  a  hill 
and  is  gone;  but  its  afterglow  fills  the  sky.  So  it  is 
with  your  father,  boy.  Though  actually  he  has  been 
out  of  my  life  for  many  years,  the  golden  glow  of 
his  pure  love " 

But  Richard  Dennison  had  become  strangely  moved 
by  these  simple  words  read  from  a  book  written  in  the 
popular  vein  of  the  modern  story  writer. 

Looking  up  Stanley  saw  that  his  beloved  friend's 
face  was  convulsed  with  emotion.  His  sightless  eyes 
were  raised  as  if  in  appeal  toward  the  soft  blue  sky 

399 


400     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

above  him  which  he  did  not  see.  A  radiance  suffused 
his  features.  Then  a  dry  sudden  sob  broke  from  his 
lips. 

"Why,  Mr.  Dennison!"  Stanley  exclaimed,  alarmed 
at  this  sound.  Putting  the  book  down  he  bent  over  the 
man  upon  the  bed.  "What's  the  matter?" 

Richard  Dennison' s  thoughts  came  back  to  earth 
at  Stanley's  question,  and  he  answered  in  quite  his 
normal  tone : 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing,  my  boy."  Then  after  sev- 
eral moments  more,  in  which  he  had  lain  very  still,  he 
remarked : 

"The  author  of  that  book  was  writing  of  something 
she  knew,  Gray.  The  story  has  the  earmarks  of  truth," 
and  he  sighed. 

Stanley  closed  the  book  and  sat  gazing  off  across  the 
panorama  of  the  prison  town.  The  story  was  a  pa- 
thetic one,  and  even  to  his  unimaginative  mind  it  seemed 
very  real.  There  were  many  truths  in  it,  too,  which 
had  never  occurred  to  him  until  he  had  learned  to  know 
and  love  Richard  Dennison.  This  love  now  filled  his 
heart  to  overflowing.  He  longed  to  express  in  words 
what  the  past  few  months  in  prison  under  his  guard- 
ianship had  meant  to  him;  but  as  usual  his  diffidence 
would  not  allow  him  to  speak.  All  the  gentleness  and 
loyalty  in  Stanley's  nature  had  responded  to  this 
afflicted  man,  just  as  it  had  responded  to  the  one  other 
person  in  the  world  Stanley  had  really  loved — the  little 
hunchback. 

With  this  feeling  for  Richard  Dennison  there  had 
also  come  a  desire  to  win  his  respect  and  approval. 
This  youth  who  had  never  known  any  prolonged  good 
influence,  except  for  little  Miss  Coudaire,  was  now 
aroused  to  an  ambition  of  which  he  had  not  known  he 
was  capable.  He  mentally  struggled  to  find  some  outlet 
besides  that  of  doing  his  prison  work  well,  an  outlet 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     401 

which  would  show  his  friend  the  new  viewpoint  from 
which  he  now  looked  at  life  because  of  him.  He 
desired  especially  to  make  this  splendid  man  see  that 
he  really  wanted  to  "make  good,"  not  only  because 
of  his  regard  for  him,  but  also  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
awakening  manhood.  Yet  so  strange  to  him  were  these 
emotions  that  he  must  have  felt  much  like  a  baby 
when  its  mind  first  becomes  conscious  of  a  desire  to 
make  itself  understood.  He  did  not  know  how  to 
express  himself. 

Richard  lay  going  over  the  bitterness — and  the 
sweetness — of  his  own  troubled  life.  The  words  of 
the  little  story  had  vividly  recalled  Marjory.  She 
seemed  very  near  him,  and  now  instead  of  the  fret- 
ful accusing  Marjory  of  their  last  days  in  Hampton 
she  was  the  laughing  loving  Marjory  of  their  honey- 
moon days.  During  all  these  dark  years  in  prison 
Richard  had  seldom  allowed  Marjory's  image  to  take 
possession  of  him,  nor  would  he  allow  himself  to 
ponder  upon  the  question  of  the  child's  birth.  He  felt 
about  summoning  Marjory's  face  before  him  in  the 
degradation  of  the  prison  much  as  he  had  always  felt 
about  connecting  her  name  with  his  after  his  theft. 
She  was  too  pure  and  beautiful  to  have  any  part  in 
his  criminal  career!  Taking  back  his  real  name  be- 
fore the  trial,  Richard  had  managed  to  keep  the  name 
which  she  bore  off  the  records;  and  even  though  he 
had  told  Judge  Sawyer  much  of  his  past  history  upon 
the  judge's  return  to  Warsaw  Prison  as  warden,  he 
had  never  given  him  even  the  smallest  hint  about  his 
marriage,  or  that  he  had  been  known  by  the  alias  of 
Denneth  Richardson.  He  had  disgraced  the  name 
borne  by  his  mother.  No  other  woman's  name  should 
suffer  at  his  hands! 

Richard  did  not  have  the  slightest  suspicion  that 
Marjory's  and  the  judge's  paths  had  crossed;  but 


402     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

simply  as  a  matter  of  general  precaution  he  had  con- 
tinued vigilantly  to  guard  the  secret  which,  if  be- 
coming known,  might  mean  a  certain  amount  of  scan- 
dal, or  at  least  disgrace,  to  her.  Undoubtedly  things 
were  better  just  as  they  were;  but  oh,  how  he 
had  longed  to  talk  about  her  to  the  judge!  Since 
he  had  done  so  much  toward  redeeming  the  past 
through  his  earnest  and  honest  endeavor  to  become 
an  influence  for  good  in  Warsaw  Prison,  he  had  al- 
lowed the  thought  of  Marjory  to  come  to  him  more 
and  more  frequently.  Through  the  years  his  loyalty 
and  love  for  her  had  never  wavered.  Reflection  under 
conditions  permitting  a  juster  sense  of  proportion  since 
he  had  been  put  into  the  sunshine  beneath  the  blue  can- 
opy of  heaven,  had  enabled  him  to  see  how  vastly  bet- 
ter it  would  have  been  during  the  year  of  their  life 
together  if  he  had  not  weakly  yielded  to  the  tempta- 
tion of  giving  her  more  than  he  could  afford.  Oh, 
if  he  had  only  been  a  man  and  fought  the  thing  out, 
instead  of  allowing  it  to  conquer  him  and  put  him 
where  he  was  to-day !  What  an  extraordinary  coinci- 
dence that  the  little  story  should  have  been  read  to 
him!  The  author's  sorrows  and  problems  were  so  like 
what  his  and  Marjory's  had  been.  He  longed  with 
his  whole  heart  to  see  and  talk  to  Marjory  before 
the  end  came,  and  yet  had  no  doubt  whatever  that 
the  forgiveness  which  in  the  little  story  had  char- 
acterized the  heroine's  attitude  toward  the  hero  in 
no  way  represented  Marjory's  feeling  toward  him! 

He  turned  and  smiled  bravely  toward  Stanley. 

"Thank  you  for  reading  to  me,"  he  said,  little  re- 
alizing the  effort  which  it  had  cost  Stanley  to  over- 
come his  timidity  enough  to  read  aloud,  nor  yet  know- 
ing how  Stanley  had  labored  in  the  prison  night  school 
in  order  to  improve  his  reading  enough  to  do  so. 
"You  read  very  nicely  indeed,  in  spite  of  the  fact 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     403 

that  you  tell  me  your  early  education  was  abominably 
neglected.  It's  a  sweet  story  that,  though  I  could 
wish  it  ended  more  happily.  By  the  way,  who  is  the 
author?'' 

Stanley  turned  to  the  title  page.  "Marjory  Mat- 
thews," he  read. 

"What!"  Richard  Dennison  exclaimed,  sitting  bolt 
upright,  his  sightless  eyes  widening  as  he  struggled 
frantically  to  push  aside  the  black  curtain  forever  in 
front  of  them,  and  see  the  boy  who  had  just  pro- 
nounced this  name  of  all  names  in  the  world!  It 
can't  be!  My  God,  Gray,  where  did  you  get  hold 
of  that  name?"  and  his  gaunt  hands  clinched  and 
unclinched  themselves,  the  blood  pounding  to  his  white 
face  and  settling  in  his  hollow  cheeks  in  a  hectic  flush. 
"Give  me  the  book!" 

Stanley  placed  the  little  volume  in  Richard's  trem- 
bling hands.  Involuntarily  he  held  it  up  in  front  of 
his  eyes;  and  then  a  sudden  anger  filling  him  at  his 
inability  to  see  it  he  flung  it  violently  from  him  and 
dropped  back  upon  his  pillows. 

The  effort  had  brought  on  a  paroxysm  of  coughing, 
terrible  in  its  results.  The  poor  lungs  which  had  been 
struggling  to  heal  themselves  in  the  fresh  air  and 
sunshine,  now  refused  to  be  mistreated  longer.  A 
hemorrhage  ensued,  and  when  finally  it  had  been 
checked  and  Richard  breathed  normally  again,  he  lay 
very  still  and  white,  his  limp  hand  in  that  of  the  war- 
den's, while  Dr.  Deever,  with  the  assistance  of  an- 
other of  the  prison  physicians,  vainly  endeavored  to 
bring  back  to  his  cold  body  some  warmth  of  life.  But 
the  Angel  of  Death  hovered  very  near. 

"What  started  the  coughing,  Gray?"  the  warden 
asked  of  Stanley,  who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
too  frightened  and  distressed  to  move.  "Did  he  at- 
tempt to  get  up  or  exert  himself  in  any  way?" 


404     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

Stanley  shook  his  head.  "No,  sir,"  he  said,  "but 
he  got  awfully  excited  over  the  book." 

The  warden  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then 
he  remembered.  "The  little  book  I  gave  you  to  read 
to  him?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where  is  it?" 

Stanley  picked  the  book  up  from  the  floor  and 
handed  it  to  the  warden.  Warden  Sawyer  seemed 
more  puzzled  than  ever.  He  had  thought  that  the 
book  would  interest  and  amuse  Richard.  It  was  sad, 
of  course,  and  dealt  with  the  problems  of  a  criminal ; 
but  he  had  found  that  both  of  these  elements  gen- 
erally made  particular  appeal  to  the  inmates  of  War- 
saw. The  men  under  his  regime,  having  become  in- 
terested in  the  welfare  of  criminals,  were  extremely 
interested  in  all  stories  about  them. 

"How  do  you  mean  he  'got  excited'?"  the  judge 
asked  curiously. 

Stanley  repeated  the  scene  as  best  he  remembered 
until  it  came  to  the  point  where  he  had  rushed  fran- 
tically for  Dr.  Deever.  Here  breaking  off  he  said  in 
an  agony  of  anxiety: 

"Warden,  he  ain't  going  to  die,  is  he?  Say  he 
ain't!  He's  all  I've  got  in  the  world,  Warden.  Say 
he  ain't  going  to  die.  Nobody  was  ever  kind  to  me 
but  you  two.  Oh,  say  he  ain't  going  to  die!" 

Warden  Sawyer's  heart  was  touched  by  this  expres- 
sion of  the  hitherto  silent  youth's  devotion. 

"No,  no,  he's  going  to  be  all  right,"  he  quieted 
him.  "Don't  worry.  He's  had  attacks  like  this  be- 
fore." 

Stanley  stood  quietly  after  that  while  the  two  doc- 
tors slowly  restored  Richard's  consciousness.  A  cer- 
tain feeble  strength  returned  to  him.  He  lifted  his 
lids. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     405 

"Who's  here?"  he  asked,  rolling  his  eyes  about  in 
the  characteristic  manner  of  endeavoring  to  see,  which 
he  had  always  used  since  sight  left  him.  "I  want  the 
warden." 

"I'm  here,  my  friend,"  Warden  Sawyer's  voice  as- 
sured him,  and  he  pressed  Richard's  hand  between 
both  of  his. 

For  a  moment  Richard  seemed  comforted ;  and  then 
he  asked : 

"You're  here  too,  aren't  you,  Dr.  Deever?" 

"You  bet  I  am,"  that  cheery  little  person  answered 
heartily,  and  he  adjusted  Richard's  pillow  as  gently 
as  any  woman  could  have  done.  "You're  all  right 
now,  aren't  you?" 

Richard  reached  out  his  free  hand  and  put  it  upon 
the  top  of  the  ones  which  held  his  own. 

"Judge,"  he  said,  "you  are  the  best  friend  I've  got. 
I'm  not  all  right.  In  spite  of  what  Dr.  Deever  says, 
or  can  do  for  me,"  and  his  eyes  tried  to  look  in  the 
doctor's  direction,  "/  know  that  my  hours  are  num- 
bered. I  have  known  it  for  several  days.  There  is 
something  I  want  you  to  do  for  me.  You  know  that 
little  book  you  gave  Gray  to  read  to  me?" 

"Yes,"  Warden  Sawyer  said  eagerly,  wondering 
what  was  coming. 

"Well,  is  its  author's  -name — Marjory  Matthews?" 

Judge  Sawyer  looked  at  Richard's  flushed  face  curi- 
ously; then  signalled  to  the  doctor  and  Stanley  to 
leave  them.  There  was  something  strangely  intense 
in  the  man's  tones  as  he  asked  the  question,  and  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  stood  out  while  his  mouth  was 
held  in  a  constrained  firm  line. 

"Why,  yes,"  Judge  Sawyer  said.  "Marjory  Mat- 
thews Richardson.  She  is  an  old,  old  friend  of  mine. 
Did  you  like  the  book?" 

Hardly  had  he  finished  the  words  before  Richard's 


406     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

hands,  in  spite  of  his  weakness,  had  gripped  the  war- 
den's even  more  tightly  than  before.  Marjory,  his 
wife,  an  old  friend  of  his  best  friend!  It  seemed 
almost  too  extraordinary  to  believe! 

Richard  was  indeed  torn  between  all  the  conflicting 
emotions  which  this  news,  coupled  with  the  reading 
of  the  book,  had  wrought  in  him;  yet  in  his  voice  as 
he  spoke  now  there  was  very  little  emotion  shown.  He 
was  holding  himself  well  in  check.  This  was  prob- 
ably his  last  chance  to  know  the  many  things  he  wished 
to  know  about  Marjory;  but  he  must  remember  to  do 
nothing,  nothing,  he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  to  en- 
danger her  happiness.  If  the  book  were  really  her 
own  experiences,  she  was  herself  ill.  Perhaps,  though, 
that  phrase  about  her  "last  hours"  was  only  the  coat- 
ing of  fiction  which  disguised  her  story.  Anyway,  the 
story  itself  showed  him  plainly  enough  that  Marjory 
had  changed  her  mind  about  him,  and  after  all  that 
was  what  mattered! 

"Judge,"  he  said  plaintively,  "try  to  find  her  for 
me.  The  author.  I — I — knew  her  years  ago.  She 
evidently  doesn't  feel  now  the — way  she  used  to  about 
me."  Then  his  anxiety  getting  the  better  of  his  cau- 
tion, he  exclaimed  excitedly: 

"Oh,  Judge,  don't  you  think  if  she  knew  I  was 
dying  she  would  come  to  me?  I  want  to  see  her, 
Judge.  I  want " 

"Richard  Dennison,"  Warden  Sawyer  broke  in, 
for  a  sudden  idea  had  dawned  over  him,  "is  that  the 
only  name  you've  ever  had?  Answer !" 

The  sick  man  shook  his  head.  "That's  my  real  name, 
but  my  alias  was  Denneth  Richardson."  Then  turn- 
ing his  face  pathetically  up  to  the  judge's,  he  said : 
"You  understand,  don't  you,  Warden?  I've  wanted 
to  tell  you,  oh,  you  don't  know  how  much !  But  I  felt 
I  could  not  do  so  until  now." 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     407 

Indeed  he  did  understand !  Stupid  fool  that  he  was, 
why  had  he  not  thought  of  this  possibility  before, 
Judge  Sawyer  asked  himself.  Yet  as  he  turned  the 
case  over  in  his  mind  he  could  find  even  now  no  rea- 
son for  his  having  guessed  Richard's  double  identity. 

Slowly  he  disengaged  his  hands  from  those  of  the 
clinging  man.  The  whole  wretched  existence  which 
this  man  and  woman,  through  little  fault  of  their  own, 
had  unnecessarily  lived,  seemed  so  tragic  to  him  that 
for  a  moment  his  splendid  spirit  of  optimism  and  hope 
wavered.  But  being  a  true  optimist  and  a  philosophi- 
cal one  as  well,  he  immediately  saw  a  vision  of  hap- 
piness in  the  future  for  them  both. 

"I'll  get  her  within  a  very  few  hours,"  he  said; 
then  speaking  very  positively  and  with  all  the  author- 
ity of  which  he  was  personally  as  well  as  profession- 
ally capable,  he  continued:  "Now  you  will  have  to 
accept  the  pardon  the  governor  offered  you  a  year  ago. 
Perhaps  your  duty  did  lie  in  'helping  the  boys'  then," 
referring  to  the  greatest  sacrifice  in  Richard's  life 
which  he  had  made  soon  after  the  new  Warsaw  was 
established,  "but  now  your  duty  lies  outside  these 
walls  and  in  making  Marjory  happy,"  and  he  was 
gone  from  the  room. 


Many  hours  had  dragged  by  for  Richard,  made 
acutely  nervous  with  anticipation ;  but  now  Dr.  Deever, 
anxiously  standing  by  his  bedside,  heard  from  the  little 
glassed-in  room  at  the  end  of  the  roof  colony  the  chug- 
chug  of  the  warden's  motor  as  it  returned  from  its  trip 
to  Hampton.  The  excitement  of  the  day  had  been  too 
much  for  the  poor  blind  fellow,  and  the  end  seemed 
very  near.  Another  hemorrhage  had  lowered  his  fast 
sinking  vitality.  He  was  conscious  only  intermittently, 
yet  when  he  was  so,  Marjory's  name  was  the  one  thing 


408     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

he  constantly  whispered  as  he  lay  listening  intently  at 
every  approaching  sound,  asking  repeatedly,  if  anyone 
did  but  come  near  him,  if  it  were  she. 

Huddled  in  an  ever  watchful  attitude,  but  with  an 
air  of  hopelessness  and  dejection  which  was  heart- 
rending in  its  pathos,  Stanley  Gray  kept  watch  at  the 
foot  of  the  sick  bed.  If  Richard's  respiration  varied 
even  the  slightest  degree,  the  youth  was  by  his  side 
with  the  soft  spring  of  a  faithful  dog,  keenly  watch- 
ing him,  while  praying  fervently  to  himself  that  the 
man's  life  be  spared.  Even  the  physicians  and  nurses, 
used  as  they  were  to  the  sight  of  grief,  were  touched 
and  troubled  at  the  wildness  of  apprehension  shining 
from  Stanley's  eyes.  They  feared  lest  he  become 
demented  with  grief. 

The  door  opened  and  Warden  Sawyer  entered.  Ex- 
changing a  few  words  with  Dr.  Deever,  he  bent  over 
Richard. 

"Do  you  think  he  will  pull  through?"  he  asked 
anxiously.  "I  see  he  is  much  worse  than  when  I  left." 

Dr.  Deever  answered  in  a  few  words,  spoken  so  low 
that  no  one  save  the  judge  could  hear  him.  Then  in 
a  louder  tone,  he  said:  "The  change  may  come  any 
moment  now.  I  think  you  had  better  bring  her  in." 

"But  the  excitement?"  Warden  Sawyer  asked. 
"Won't  it  be  too  much  in  his  present  condition?" 

Dr.  Deever  shook  his  head.  "The  excitement  of  an- 
ticipation and  of  worry  lest  she  fail  to  come  has  been 
the  bad  thing  for  him.  This  is  different!" 

Warden  Sawyer  slipped  into  the  hall. 

An  exquisitely  dainty  little  woman,  hardly  larger 
than  a  child  and  with  a  child's  appealing  look  about 
her  pretty  lineless  face,  came  through  the  door.  As 
she  saw  the  splendid  head  with  its  tumbled  mass  of 
white  hair  above  a  broad  high  forehead,  a  sob  escaped 
her  lips. 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     409 

The  head  was  moving  restlessly  back  and  forth  upon 
its  pillow,  and  she  heard  her  name  in  a  constant  whis- 
pered murmur. 

Quickly  gaining  control  of  herself,  Marjory  walked 
over  to  the  bed  and  gazed  down  upon  the  wasted  man 
before  her. 

At  the  faint  sound  of  her  weeping  Richard's  lids 
raised  themselves,  and  Marjory  looked  into  big  dark 
eyes,  unscarred  and  wonderfully  beautiful  because  of 
their  permanently  enlarged  pupils.  In  them  there  was 
no  expression  of  recognition,  and  she  knew  he  could 
not  see  her. 

"Marjory,"  he  dreamily  murmured,  "little  anem- 
one  " 

Then  both  of  his  hands  fumbled  out  in  an  impa- 
tient and  impulsive  gesture  of  appeal.  He  asked  quer- 
ulously, "Has  she  come,  Dr.  Deever;  has  she  come?" 

Marjory  dropped  to  her  knees  and  slipped  one  arm 
beneath  Richard's  pillow,  while  she  put  the  other  hand 
gently  upon  his  cheek  in  a  stroking  sort  of  manner 
which  had  characterized  her  most  affectionate  caresses 
in  their  youth. 

"Yes,  Denny,  I'm  here.  Your  Marjory's  here,"  and 
adopting  another  of  her  old  time  caresses,  though  she 
felt  as  if  she  could  hardly  stand  the  strain,  she  put 
her  lips  to  his  ear. 

"I  love  you,  Denny.     I  love  you,"  she  whispered. 

At  these  once  familiar  words,  and  the  manner  in 
which  they  were  said,  a  spasm  of  pain  crossed  his 
face.  He  thought  he  was  dreaming  again,  as  he  had 
dreamed  so  many  times  of  late.  Jerking  his  head 
away,  a  look  of  terror  widened  his  sightless  eyes;  and 
then  seeming  to  remember  something,  he  quieted  down. 
Feebly  raising  one  of  his  hands  he  groped  out  for  her. 

She  remembered  how  he  used  to  stroke  her  hair. 
That  was  his  characteristic  caress.  Taking  the  hatpins 


410     THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN 

from  her  hat  she  threw  them  upon  the  floor  and  leaned 
her  uncovered  head  forward.  Richard's  thin  white 
fingers  felt  the  mass  of  burnished  gold,  now  sprinkled 
with  silver;  and  smiling  happily,  he  drew  her  face 
down  onto  the  pillow  beside  his  own. 

"Little  anemone — flower  I  love,"  he  murmured  bro- 
kenly, the  old  familiar  words  coming  between  a  spas- 
modic struggle  to  breathe,  "sunshine — flowers — love, 
little — anem  one ' ' 

His  hands  dropped  limply  to  his  breast,  his  face 
relaxed,  and  the  voice  ceased  to  struggle. 

Like  a  tiger  the  watcher  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
leaped  forward!  "He  must  not  die!  He  must  not!" 
he  cried  in  hysterically  convulsive  tones. 

Dr.  Deever  caught  his  arm  and  held  him  fast.  "Sh- 
sh,"  he  said,  himself  unnerved  at  the  sight  of  Richard's 
transfigured  face,  and  thinking  only  of  Marjory's 
coming  grief. 

Stanley  jerked  away,  and  pushing  up  to  the  bed- 
side opposite  Marjory  began  calling  Richard's  name 
with  a  plaintive  persistency  which  brought  scalding 
tear?  to  the  eyes  of  every  occupant  of  the  room. 

Marjory  looked  up.  In  his  pleading,  Stanley  had 
bent  forward.  A  button  of  his  soft  shirt  gave  way, 
and  there  now  swung  out  into  full  view  a  gold  locket 
of  queer  design.  On  one  side  of  it  there  were  three 
initials  in  silver;  on  the  other,  raised  signs  of  thd 
zodiac. 

Marjory's  hand  clutched  her  throat.  Her  body 
swayed  forward.  In  spite  of  her  anxiety  for  Richard, 
she  half  reached  out  toward  the  younger  man.  The 
shock  was  overwhelming;  yet  she  did  not  faint.  The 
consciousness  that  the  little  hunchback,  in  spite  of 
all  she  had  done  for  him,  had  never  seemed  to  her 
like  her  own  child,  made  her  long  to  make  herself 
known  to  this  boy  at  once.  There  was  absolutely  no 


THE  IMPRISONED  FREEMAN     411 

doubi  in  her  mind  this  time.  She  did  not  stop  to  think 
— she  knew! 

"Stanley!"  she  gasped  breathlessly. 

But  before  the  astonished  boy  could  respond  a  soft 
sigh  from  Richard's  lips  reached  her,  and  looking 
into  his  face  again  she  realized  that  the  soul  and  body 
which  had  been  imprisoned  for  so  long  were  now  free 
forever.  Richard  was  far  away  from  trouble  and 
sorrow,  and  the  sorrow  which  was  to  be  her  lot  must 
be  shared  alone,  save  for — their  son. 

For  a  moment  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
now  lying  palms  up  upon  the  bed.  Life  had  been  so 
hard  and  sad.  Why  should  she  have  to  live  on !  Then 
there  came  over  her  the  blessed  consciousness  that 
Stanley,  her  own  long  lost  son,  stood  before  her,  and 
needed  his  mother's  love.  Raising  her  eyes  to  Stan- 
ley's she  felt  a  great  throbbing  hope  for  the  future 
flood  through  her  heart.  She  had  everything  to  live 
for!  She  would  make  her  boy  happy! 


fJWflOj  I  w,\0 


N 


A     000129907     2 


